


All the Broken Pieces

by TardisInWonderland



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisInWonderland/pseuds/TardisInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'm sending you to a remote SHIELD facility for six weeks, and no, I'm not telling you where. This is going to happen one of two ways. The first option is that it patches up whatever charred remains of the friendship you used to have still exist. The second is that it splits you apart forever. For both your sakes, I hope it's the first one."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (In Which Coulson Does a Thing)

“ _Now, here's the deal.”_

Jemma packed her things slowly. On her bed was a large red duffel that she shoved a pile of various clothing into, not really caring what made it in or what went where. She was going to be gone for a while and she didn't know where to, so she might as well make sure she was prepared for absolutely anything. It's not like she had too much to pack, anyways. Her bag was big enough for all her clothing, plus a few books and change of shoes. When she was finished, the room looked bare, but she couldn't help but take a last look over her shoulder before she closed the door behind her.

“ _We lost an agent out there. We lost a friend out there.”_

She clenched her fists and tried to breathe, thinking of the directions that Director Coulson had given only a few hours ago. Move quickly, pack thoroughly, not lightly. Be prepared for anything, including no contact from the outside world for the duration of the trip.

“ _We all need time to recover, especially you.”_

The hangar looked empty when she first stepped in, but then she spotted May over by the Quinnjet, ready to take off. May took her bag and easily hefted it into storage on the plane. Jemma's eyes flicked to the entrance to the Playground nervously, hoping the older agent didn't notice her looking.

“ _Both of you.”_

The sound of the door opening was as loud as thunder in the utter silence of the hangar. Jemma purposefully turned away, walking up the boarding ramp and into the jet without looking back. She ignored the sound of a second set of footsteps, pretended not to hear the last futile plea for May to at least let them know where they were going. She didn't even look over when he strapped in beside her.

“ _And you're going to do it together, whether you like it or not.”_

Takeoff was in a matter of minutes after that, but they were long and silent. The only sounds in the jet were their breathing and the engines. She kept her eyes down and her hands in her lap, wondering how long the flight would actually last. They couldn't be going just anywhere in the world, she thought. The amount of fuel in the jet could take them nearly anywhere, but the safe house would have to be in a country that was allied with SHIELD. She couldn't tell which direction they were heading yet, but as soon as they were above the clouds she'd be able to.

“ _We've lost far too many people already, and I'm not losing you two while you're still alive and standing in front of us.”_

Things between the two of them had only gotten worse over time. They ignored each other most of the time, and they fought when they didn't. Both of their physical evaluations were absolute wrecks, and the psychological results were even worse. Every night there were horrible dreams of water and drowning and comas and Hydra, and it was very slowly starting to crack her outer shell. It wouldn't be long before both of them completely cracked, and apparently Coulson thought so, too.

“ _I'm sending you to a remote SHIELD facility for six weeks, and no, I'm not telling you where.”_

Bonding time was hardly what either of them wanted. Logically, it was fairly sound. Mostly. Alright, by Jemma's calculations the idea had about a twenty-two percent chance of Coulson's preferred outcome and a fifty-four percent chance of making things much worse, but who was counting? She fought back a yawn as she felt the plane shift directions slightly.

“ _This is going to happen one of two ways. The first option is that it patches up whatever charred remains of the friendship you used to have still exist. The second is that it splits you apart forever.”_

“I'm supposed to let you know that when you wake up, you'll be at the safe house,” May said evenly. “This is the last direct contact you'll have with the team until we pick you up, unless an extinction-level threat comes up between now and then and we need your help. We have it basically covered beyond that, so don't worry about the team.” Of course. They should have known that Coulson would have a backup for his departed science team. Jemma was about to ask what she meant about waking up when a wave of drowsiness overcame her. The last thing she remembered thinking was that they must have drugged the tea, and hearing May wish them luck.

“ _For both your sakes, I hope it's the first one.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said in the description, this sucker is nearly done. All I have left is finishing the last chapter and writing the epilogue. From here out it will update on Wednesdays, because Wednesdays are nice. *shrugs*
> 
> Suggested listening is [this playlist on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/madmadmadamem/made-to-be-broken-a-fitzsimmons-fanmix), because I made it and then it spawned the fic. Also, if you feel like flailing/crying about FitzSimmons with me, look me up on tumblr under this same username. I'd love to talk to you guys!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. In Which There is a Mysterious Passcode

True to May's word, when they woke up they were definitely _at_ the safe house.

Unfortunately, they were not actually _in_ the safe house.

Jemma woke first, opening her eyes to cool green grass and the smell of flowers around her. The sky was blue overhead, and there were tall trees nearby. She sat up slowly, rubbing her stiff neck and rolling her shoulders. Everything was sore from lying on the ground, so they'd probably been dropped here at least a couple hours ago.

They were lying in front of what looked like a standard, old-fashioned log cabin. Flowers bloomed everywhere she looked, growing wild and untamed around the house- rose bushes, marigolds, daisies, and several other kinds. Ivy climbed the sides of the building, reaching for the skies and the sun. In front of them there was a path of stepping stones leading through the flowers and up to the door. About a twenty feet out from the house, the woods started, seeming to stretch in every possible direction with no clear way out. No wonder they had to fly in- there wasn't a path leading in or out.

Fitz was still asleep, and if she wasn't mistaken... No, there it was. He was _snoring_. Jemma rolled her eyes and shook his shoulder gently to wake him.

“Fitz? Wake up. _Fitz_!”

He jumped comically at the loud wake-up call, but his eyes were open and he seemed to be just as interested as she was in their surroundings.

“Where--” A yawn. “Where on earth are we?”

“Wish I knew,” Jemma muttered. There was no telling how much time had passed, so they couldn't tell direction by the sun. They had no watches, no phones, and no way to contact anyone. If she wasn't sure that SHIELD was keeping a close eye out for their safety, she'd be getting _very_ nervous right about now.

“You know, I think we might be somewhere in the mountains...” Fitz mused. “The temperature's pretty moderate for this time of year, and with those types of flowers it makes sense.”

She knew all that. However, the flora in this place made sense for a lot of regions. There was a clear, careful effort not to give anything away by the plant life. For now, they were stuck in the middle of the woods, in the middle of _nowhere_ , until SHIELD decided it was time for them to come back.

“Let's at least go inside before we continue ignoring each other, okay?” Fitz picked up his duffel with a sigh and headed for the door. Jemma blinked, unsure if she should be angry or hurt, or possibly both. In any case, she grabbed her own luggage and followed him to the door.

“Locked,” he said, annoyed.

“That can't be right!” Jemma tried the knob, but it simply wouldn't budge.

“Told you.” He didn't sound smug, to her surprise, only tired. An electronic voice suddenly buzzed from somewhere near the door.

“Fingerprint analysis: Agent Jemma Simmons and Agent Leo Fitz. Confirmed. Enter passcode.” A section of the wooden wall slid away to reveal a number pad beside the door. Of course it wouldn't be unlocked, or even open with a normal key. It couldn't be just a regular log cabin, could it?

Of course not. This was SHIELD. She interacted with alien technology on a practically daily basis and keypad entry was freaking her out now? _Get a grip on it, Jemma..._

“You know the code, right?” she asked, gesturing for him to unlock the door.

“I assumed you did...” Fitz suddenly looked very concerned. She felt her expression go slack as she realized: neither of them knew the code. No doubt Coulson had done it on purpose, too.

“Ok, um... let's think,” she began, feeling the impulse to ramble coming on. “It's got to be something we both know, right?”

“And something we could guess easily.”

“And there aren't any options for letters.”

“So it's a number we b-- both know that SHIELD has on file,” Fitz said carefully.

“And we don't just _know_ it, we'd have to remember it by heart, so it would be something Coulson would expect us to know.”

“Birthday?” Fitz suggested.

“It fits the six digits, but we obviously don't have the same birthday, so why pick one?”

“Because we know the bloody dates...” he mumbled, annoyed. She chose to ignore that for the time being.

“Um... the date we joined SHIELD?” Jemma suggested.

“Do _you_ remember that off the top of your head?” he pointed out, leaning against the door casually.

“Ah... actually, no. Nevermind.” Almost unconsciously, Jemma started pacing. What other information would they have on file in number format? There were employee ID numbers, IQ scores, driver license numbers, dates of birth, dates of marriage, dates of “defining moments” on psych evaluations...

She stopped in her tracks, nearly tripping over her own feet.

Walking calmly to the keypad, she said the number over in her mind before punching it in, just to make sure, but she knew there was no way it could be wrong. _Let's see, in American format it would be..._ As Fitz watched curiously, she punched in 091703 on the pad. Fitz stumbled backwards and into the house as the door slid open. Jemma just picked up her bag and brushed past him as she walked inside.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. A defining moment on the psych eval- that was the _only_ way that date would be on file with SHIELD, meaning they'd both mentioned it, and they both remembered. It wasn't like it was possible to forget, anyhow. That day every year usually meant movies and popcorn and laughing about Academy mishaps. It was friendship and memories, a little safe haven of their own. Or, at least, it used to be.

“What was it, then?” Fitz asked flatly, dragging his bag inside.

“You know what it was.”

 

~xXx~

 

The inside of the house looked only slightly different than you might expect for a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.The walls were still the natural log texture (probably just made to look like it, with all the electronics that must be running through this place), and there was a sturdy brick fireplace in the downstairs living area that looked fully-functional. There was even a bearskin rug on the floor (minus the head, thank goodness) and a blanket on the couch that looked suspiciously like a wolf pelt.

However, there were obviously SHILED tweaks around the place. There was a television on the mantlepiece, a thermostat by the door, and if he looked very closely Fitz thought he could see switches near the fireplace that indicated controls for gas logs. The kitchen, though still decorated in the wood motif, was very modern. Fitz was just about to reach for the cabinet to see what kind of food selection was around...

“Of course you'd go for the food,” Jemma scoffed. He thought he might have heard the slightest hint of a smile, though.

“A man's got to eat,” he said with a shrug.

“Like a _man,_ not a _horse_...” This time she really did sound like she was only teasing, and he wasn't sure how to respond. It was a delicate balance of civility and hostility between them these days, the tension building up like static electricity until lightning finally struck when they least expected it.

“Voice key confirmed. Welcome Agent Leo Fitz. Welcome Agent Jemma Simmons,” an electronic voice chimed. “Playing transmission now.”

“Transmission?” Jemma asked, seemingly to no one in particular. It wasn't like she was talking to _him_ , anyway. The television over the fire place fuzzed to life, and an image of Coulson waving appeared.

“Before you say anything, no, this isn't a video call. It's pre-recorded. I wanted to let you know a couple of details now that you're stuck here. One: This is the safe house. You probably figured that out. This place is surrounded by woods on all sides for a reason. There's a map of the surrounding area hanging on the wall, so if you want to go exploring, be my guest,but take the walkie talkies in the desk drawer and definitely come back before dark. There's not an electric fence up or anything, but there _are_ bears. And wolves.

Two: There will be a drop off with supplies at the end of the week, but until then you're on your own. Be on the lookout for it.

Three: Don't...” he paused, shaking his head. “Just don't kill each other before you get back, okay?” The screen cut to black.

“Okay. So. What do we do now...?” Fitz asked slowly, looking around.

“I don't know about you, but I'm going to locate the bedrooms and unpack.” She headed up the staircase on the far side of the den, and Fitz decided he might as well just follow along.

At the top of the stairs there were two bedrooms separated by a bathroom Both rooms were nearly identical, with a double bed, a closet, a dresser, and a nightstand in each one. Both had a large picture window that looked out the back side of the house, straight towards the woods. Then again, any direction you looked was straight towards the woods. The second floor only provided a slightly better view of the miles and miles of trees.

From here he could definitely tell they were in the mountains, though. It was harder to see from the ground, but there were definitely mountains rising and falling all around them. That put him one step closer to figuring out where they were and how to get out of there. If it was possible, at least, and to tell the truth... he wasn't quite sure he wanted to.

What if this was a good thing? Not that he wanted to spend days locked up here with Jemma after everything that had happened, but it might be alright. He wanted to patch things up, truly, but he didn't think that _she_ wanted to. They'd done nothing but very purposefully avoid each other and skirt around talking, and after the Kree City and grieving for Trip they'd stopped talking altogether. Including now.

He watched Jemma disappear into the far bedroom and didn't move until the door slammed and the lock clicked into place.

Thankfully, both the bedroom doors were unlocked, and Fitz assumed it would be acceptable to disappear into his for the next several hours. He plopped the bag down on the floor without actually pulling anything out, searching through the nightstand drawers until he found a notepad and paper. Sketching design ideas always helped to clear his head, even if his hands had become a little shaky after the pod. His hands moved and his mind wandered, and after a while it usually became as blank as the paper was at the start.

This time, though, his mind wandered towards the combination to the door. How had SHIELD possibly known about that? Was it in their files? Was Coulson just unnaturally observant? Did he want to bring up memories that now seemed painfully bright and happy?

It hurt him to think about that day now. It hurt to wade through the memories of when things were easy and simple, when they didn't fight all the time and he didn't feel like a waste of space. It hurt to think about when Jemma had been cheerful all the time, always finding the best in things and smoothing over his prickly side with her bright smiles and understanding ways.

Fitz didn't want to dwell on it at all, but it couldn't be helped. He was a literal genius and he couldn't figure out how SHIELD knew the day that he and Jemma first met.

 

~xXx~

 

As soon as the door was closed, Jemma flopped face down on her bed and screeched into her pillows, glad there were sturdy walls and a small room between her and Fitz, even if it was unnaturally quiet around here. She felt like an immature preteen, but she didn't care. There was no one here to see her, and it at least helped release some frustration.

She and Fitz were stuck here. Together.

There was a time when she might have enjoyed that. Time alone used to be something special- alone with her best friend without thinking about monsters and aliens and secret government organizations. They could sit and be together, and talk about everything in the world twice over before they ever got bored. Assuming sleep didn't take them first, that was. Too many times during their Academy days they'd fallen asleep in each other's rooms and woken up there the next morning. There had been more than a few rumors that they were secretly dating, all of which they denied. Jemma sometimes wondered if they should have bothered.

All she wanted to do was lie there on the bed for a long while (and why shouldn't she, because they were still here with nothing to do), but she forced herself to get up and start unpacking. The sooner there was even the slightest resemblance of being settled in at this place, the better.

She unzipped the bag and pulled out the pile of jumpers first, laying them on her bed to put away later. The jeans went in the drawers and the button-downs neatly hung in the closet. She threw the t-shirts and underwear in the dresser drawers, and put the toiletries on the nightstand. However, when she reached down to pull the books out of the bag, she bumped against the near-forgotten pile of jumpers and sent them tumbling to the floor with a dull thud.

She shook her head and started picking them back up, mumbling to herself. _Nice job, Jemma. Now you've just made a mess..._ She was halfway done when she noticed something that shouldn't be there. It was a thick red jumper, dark red and obviously too big for her. She picked up the crumpled wad and unfolded it, trying to figure out where on earth it had come from (because as much as she tried, oversized jumpers just did _not_ get the job done in her line of work).

Worked into the knitting in the front was the black MIT block logo.

She almost dropped it in surprise. No wonder it was too big for her- this was _Fitz's_ jumper! She'd gone to Cambridge, not MIT. Sometimes their clothes did get mixed up in the wash, but Fitz always knew when the jumper looked two sizes too small for him. She must have taken it with her when...

The coma. She'd taken his things off the Bus and moved them to the Playground for him, and she'd taken the jumper because it was one of his favorites, and it reminded her of him. It had helped, in a way, but it had also made the hurt more potent.

Just like now.

With a soft sigh, Jemma set to hanging the rest of the jumpers in the closet. She couldn't bring herself to go give back the one that belonged to Fitz, though. Not only would it be extremely embarrassing, but then she'd have to explain why she had it in the first place and... no. He didn't even want to talk to her, and he'd never forgive her for leaving him, even if he gave her twenty seconds to explain to him why. She left the jumper lying on her bed, staring at it like it was going to jump out at her for a moment. Then, she walked over and picked it up.

It still smelled like him. It smelled like the box of his things she'd taken from the Bus, smelled like his room at the hospital that she'd refused to leave. She hugged it to her chest for a moment, then lay it back down in order to shimmy out of her jeans and unbutton her shirt. It was a little cold in here, she reasoned, slipping the jumper over her head. It was just big enough that the sleeves ended at her fingertips, and the hem stopped at the tip top of her thighs.

Jemma picked a book off the table without looking at which one it was, crawled under the covers, and tried to read a little. It smelled like home to her- the perfume she wore mixing with a hint of Fitz's aftershave. It felt like home to her, almost. During the coma days it had helped with the nightmares.

For a minute she wanted to chide herself about how pathetic she was, but stopped that train of thought in its tracks. Coulson had been right about one thing: they needed time to grieve. Time to grieve Trip's death, to remember her lost friend, and perhaps time to cut her losses with Fitz. She'd spent so much time trying to get things back to the way they were that she and Fitz had practically become strangers again. Maybe it was time to grieve for what was, so that something new could grow in its place.

And, if something refused to grow with Fitz, it was at least time to close up the wound on her heart that their friendship had left, and hope that whatever came next would help cover the scars. Only six weeks here left to get through. Maybe some time away would help, even if they did spend all of it avoiding each other.

She couldn't go back to him, because she made him worse. Mack saw it, Coulson saw it, the _entire team_ saw it, and probably Fitz did, too. No matter how much she didn't want to lose him, his health and his sanity and his _recovery_ were far more important.

Jemma had jumped from a sinking ship when she finally decided to leave, hoping it might patch up easier without her. Now the ship was repaired and barely afloat, and she was left to drown in the churning waves.

That was the first night that Jemma allowed herself to cry. The tears fell for Trip, for Fitz, and even a few for herself, and though it hurt to cry, it felt good to _let_ herself hurt. It felt good not to force the patience or the cheer, not to wonder if someone would walk in on her or wonder where she'd gone. It felt good not to have to be alright.

She fell asleep snuggled in Fitz's jumper, and didn't wake up till morning.

 

~xXx~

 

There had to be food somewhere, right?

Fitz had only noticed that several hours had passed when the light started to fade. Rather than flip the switch for the overhead light, he decided to head downstairs for supper. After all, they hadn't had lunch today and he was starving. There wasn't even a peep from Jemma's room as he walked past. The practical part of him was worried, and the petty part was a little hurt. It was quite possible she'd just grabbed some food on her own and taken it back up to her room to eat.

In the cabinets there were standard baking supplies and basic kitchen utensils, and your basic food staples. Rice, pasta, canned beans, canned fruit, packets of dried meat- things that would take a while to spoil. Your standard safe house stock, really. The fridge had some fresh fruit, cold cuts, cheese, and some other basic foods that had obviously been put there recently, maybe even by May when she dropped them off today. Fitz wasn't much of a cook (when they were on better terms, Simmons hadn't trusted him with much else besides the tea, and rightly so), so he hunted down some sandwich supplies and took his supper with him to the couch in the den. He even made tea. As he ate, he took a slightly closer look at his surroundings.

The television wasn't actually hooked up to a cable line, but there was a rack of DVDs that he hadn't noticed before next to the windows. Beside those shelves were twice as many books- at a cursory glance he could see several different genres and all sorts of lengths. Besides the couch and the bookshelves there was a desk, two lamps, two armchairs, and a coffee table in the room. A map was pinned above the desk, but there was no clock and no calendar. Fitz assumed they'd done it purposefully to distort the passage of time. As soon as they lost track of the days they might be more likely to talk.

Either way, it was going to drive him nuts not at least knowing what day it was. He fished out another pad and pen from the desk (there was _lots_ of paper in there, thankfully), drawing up a crude calendar for the next couple of months and marking off the days with small numbers. Then he fished a few pushpins out of the drawer and pinned up the calendar beside the map.

So, they had minimal technology, no clocks, and no contact from the outside world. This was going to be interesting.

He sat his mug of overly-sugared tea down on the coffee table and tried to take a moment to breathe. Why was it so hard for him to be around her? That's all he'd wanted, wasn't it...?

But it _wasn't_. Not really.

He wanted her back, but Simmons back meant things returning to normal, and he wasn't normal. There wasn't FitzSimmons anymore, there was just Fitz in the garage and Simmons in the lab. Their time apart along with his brain damage and the emotional trauma from nearly dying had shattered their synchronization. Being near her had once felt as natural and necessary as breathing, and now it was like a painful shock back to reality.

Away from her, he could pretend things were alright. He didn't have as many problems with speech when he wasn't flustered, trying to reach for words just out of his grasp while she tried to find the answers he sought. He couldn't take it. There wasn't time to _think_ around her, and the weight of her reaction to his confession in the pod hung between them constantly.

He should have known, he supposed. Jemma was always the more outgoing of the pair; she certainly would have said something by now if she felt the same as he did. Or would she? A tiny part of his mind still wondered if there truly wasn't a single time in ten years when she'd contemplated the possibility for at least a moment.

It didn't really matter, though, did it? All that mattered was right here, right now, and right now he knew that there was no way they would get through this unscathed.

 


	3. In Which We Hear from the Team

“This plan is not working,” May said sternly. She leaned against the edge of Coulson's desk, staring at him impatiently. There were three security cameras in the safe house (the kitchen, the den, and the hallway upstairs), so small that they were nearly undetectable, and even without audio every single one of the feeds said the same thing: they weren't talking.

They never appeared together at any time, and the few times they did there was nothing more than an awkward pause long enough for a “hello” before they went their separate ways. Fitz was up at all hours of the night while Jemma was up early and to bed not too long after the sun set. She'd explored every inch of the inside of the house while Fitz usually went off into the woods for most of the day. To his credit, he always took a walkie-talkie, and Jemma always kept hers near, but neither of them ever actually used them at all.

“It'll work. Give them time.” Coulson sounded worried, though. “Besides, you know the other reason why we sent them there.”

“I know. It's for their own safety... but I can't help but wonder if they'd be better off here, right under our noses.”

“If they were here they'd be suspicious and try to take matters into their own hands. You know FitzSimmons. It's better if we keep them off the map, and maybe... Maybe some good will come out of it in time.” his eyes flicked back to the screen, the picture showing Jemma in an oversized sweater, rubbing her red and puffy eyes in the early morning. 

“I still don't like it,” she declared.

“We don't need scientists for this mission, May. It's field-ops only. They were never combat cleared and they're certainly not psychologically stable enough to take something like this right now.”

“Doesn't mean I like it...” She turned and walked from the room without looking back. The last thing that needed to happen right now was one of them getting hurt. May would trust him to the edge of the earth, but sometimes his thought process made no sense to her.

 

~xXx~

 

Jemma woke with a headache for the fourth morning in a row, eyes half crusted closed with sleep and tears, still curled up in Fitz's jumper (which, for some reason, she'd taken to sleeping in). Ever since they came to this stupid place, she and Fitz had done nothing but avoid each other. In fact, if it weren't for the faint footsteps from the hallway every now and then or the sound of the sink in the bathroom next door, she might not have known he was here.

And it was driving her utterly _insane_. It was like living with a ghost! Food disappeared from the fridge, but no one ever appeared to be eating anything besides her. Dishes piled up in the sink twice as quickly as they should have, which was definitely something she'd have to speak to him about if she could ever find him. He was snoring in the mornings when she woke up or gone in the afternoons, one of the walkie-talkies very obviously left on the kitchen counter in case she needed to contact him. She never used it.

Jemma had cooked a little (read: baked a _lot_ ) and done some of the dishes during the day, but hadn't really ventured outside much. There was a swing on the back porch that she liked to sit on and read, and she'd started keeping a journal on one of the yellow legal pads from the desk drawer. It was really more like a log, she supposed, except with only relative times rather than exact ones. It helped her keep track of the passing of time in a way besides the calendar on the wall. The house had a nice array of flowers around it, but she hadn't taken time to really look at them all, and that was something on her to-do list...

What was it about having a to-do list and all the time in the world to do it that made one so incredibly _lazy_? There were times whenever she thought she might be depressed, but there was no use in trying to self-diagnose, especially when you were grieving and avoiding people. She just... didn't want to leave the house. She had no lab. And above all things, Jemma most definitely did _not_ want to sleep. She'd woken up at least three times during the course of the night, heart pounding and gasping for breath from the nightmares that still plagued her. Sometimes she thought she would never be able to get away from the pod, from the _water_.

It haunted her days and invaded her dreams, made her twist and turn and gasp for air at night, made her jump at the sight of oceans and lakes. When she did manage to sleep, it was never for long and only when exhaustion managed to drag her away from the waking world by force. She felt as taut as a violin's strings when they flew over oceans on the Bus, and kept her showers as short as possible while standing under the spray as little as possible.

It was easy to hide it, most of the time. Everyone was a little tense on the planes, so no one seemed to notice that Jemma was just a hair more jumpy over oceans (except maybe May, but she was too discreet to mention it). The rooms were mostly soundproof, and she'd learn to stifle her screams and settle into near-silent, hiccuping cries as quickly as possible. Obviously no one was ever nearby when she showered, and if they noticed she took a remarkably short time in the bathroom then no one complained. Hydra had, at the very least, turned her into a semi-decent liar. It wasn't much, but it was enough to hide her trauma from the others.

That was what it was, really. Trauma. No one recovered from a near-death experience without time and support, and she hadn't had much of either. She had barely eaten or slept until Fitz came out of his coma, and very soon afterwords she took off to Hydra, hoping and praying that it would give Fitz time to recover on his own.

“ _I make him worse. I know I do.”_

She wanted to talk to him about coma, about the pod, about _everything_ more than anything in the world, but— Well, maybe that wasn't quite true. It would have been perfectly fine just to talk to him at all, to slip back into that easy working silence and understood friendship. What she wouldn't give to hear him chattering again, to look at him without fear of seeing pain and judgment in his eyes...

Jemma shook her head and rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes, grabbing the ibuprofen from her nightstand and promptly swallowing two of them for her headache before heading off to take a shower. Judging by the amount of light outside the window, it was still early. With any luck, Fitz wouldn't be up yet (he was always a night owl) and the bathroom would be free.

It turned out that luck was with her in more than one way. Not only was Fitz _not_ awake, but she could hear him snoring soundly from the other side of his door. Jemma suppressed a chuckle as she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, pulling a towel and washcloth out of the corner closet. There was a window on the far side that let in light (strange to have a window in a bathroom, but there was also no one to look in on it), and a large tub next to a shower cubicle. The idea of a bath was tempting, but almost definitely out of the question. Bathing was troublesome in a lot of ways, but a bath made her feel less like she was totally submerged in water than in a shower, when she couldn't get away from it. Panic attacks in the shower were _not_ fun.

However, there was always the chance that she'd fall asleep in the tub, and that wouldn't be much better, so she settled for turning on the shower and adjusting the spray so she could stand without being entirely under it.

The truth was that she'd been sleeping so little while at Hydra that the staff doctors had prescribed her medication just so she could get back to functioning normally- both for the anxiety and for sleep. The strong sleeping pills (which she had surreptitiously tested to make sure they were indeed what they claimed to be) had done their jobs so well that she'd needed a louder alarm in the morning, and she slept so deeply that the nightmares couldn't touch her.

After she came back she didn't have the heart to attempt to fix her nightmare problems amongst all the chaos around the base, and they had returned with a sudden vengeance. Over the past few weeks they had only gotten worse- more violent, lasting longer, coming more frequently. When she'd had nightmares in the past she'd always had an anchor- her family, her friends, whoever the first person there was...

She'd always had Fitz. Ten years now she'd had him, and now it felt like a piece of her life was missing when she woke up crying with his name on her lips and knowing he couldn't hear her. The ache went away, eventually, if she lay there long enough to tumble back into a tumultuous sleep, but it always came back the next night.

She wondered if he'd ever forgive her sometimes, if there was anything else she could have done. She couldn't have left him to drown, that was most certain.

 _Drown_.

She felt her chest tighten at the thought, and talked herself down as much as she could. _It's alright, Jemma. You're fine. You cannot drown in the shower, and you're not in the ocean..._

It didn't work. The panic didn't go away, and the urge to cry only became stronger. In the end she stepped out of the shower still dripping, slip-sliding to the counter so she could rinse her hair in the sink. If she was telling the truth, even that made her uneasy. Afterwords she wrapped herself in a towel and slid to the floor with her back against the bathroom door, waiting for her heart to stop pounding and her chest to stop hurting. She felt dizzy and terrified even though every one of her logical senses said she was fine.

_Alright, Jemma. Think. Water: H2O. Glucose: CH2O. Ethanol: CH3CH2OH..._

After she finally calmed down enough to realize that she was starting to shiver from being cold and wet, she stood and opened the door, clutching the towel around her... and nearly walked right into Fitz.

“I-- um-- ah--” he spluttered, very purposefully looking in any direction _but_ at her as his face slowly reddened. Jemma muttered an apology and slipped past him as quickly as possible, feeling her own cheeks turn red. She could come back and clean her mess later. Right now she just wanted to be warm, dry, and preferably alone.

This was going to be a long trip.

 

~xXx~

 

 _Well, that was uncomfortable,_ Fitz thought. He stood, blinking, in front of the bathroom door, trying not to let his eyes follow Jemma as she walked towards her bedroom. It shouldn't be this awkward, really. He'd seen Jemma in a towel before, back when they shared a dorm room at the Academy. Then again, that was before all of... whatever this was. As the blush slowly faded from his cheeks, he quite literally _slipped_ into the bathroom to brush his teeth. There was water absolutely _everywhere_! It not only coated the inside of the shower, but covered the tiles in puddles, soaked part of the rug near the tub, and had made a drippy, soapy mess out of the countertop. _Wait... soapy?_

Fitz paused, running his fingers through one of the puddles near the sink. It was slick with soap, and it smelled like Jemma's shampoo. Why was her shampoo near the sink? She should have rinsed it all out in the shower...

Actually, this whole mess was unlike her. The shower door hanging haphazardly open, washcloth discarded near the drain rather than wrung out and hung to dry. Not to mention the general water everywhere-- there was even some on the back of the bathroom door! How on earth it had gotten there, he had no id-- oh, _no_.

He surveyed the room once more, just to run a quick check on things. Fitz hadn't gone though a lot of field training, but he knew Jemma well enough to guess most of what might have happened. So she'd woken up early without an alarm, meaning she probably went to sleep early. Not really consequential right now, but worth noting. She'd grabbed a towel, gone into the shower... He glanced at the awkward positioning of the shower head. There was no way she could fit her entire body under that spray, so she must not have wanted to. But why not?

 _It must be the water,_ he thought. _She doesn't want to be totally submerged, not after what happened in the pod..._ It was understandable enough, because it made him uneasy too. But then she'd what, rinsed her hair in the sink? That made no sense. And she'd have to press herself against the bathroom door for a while, just kind of _sitting there_ , for that kind of puddle and leftover water.

None of it made sense, so he just brushed his teeth, mopped up the water as best he could, and went downstairs to round up something for breakfast. Jemma had beaten him to it, apparently. She sat on a stool at the kitchen counter with a cup of what he initially assumed was tea, but as he got closer he realized was actually coffee.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

“Coffee?” he asked, nose wrinkling in confusion. He filled another cup from the half-full coffee pot and sat down beside her.

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly.

“You hate coffee.” Without a _doubt_ she hated coffee. He used to drink it all the time before the Academy, but she never kept it on hand and had converted him over to a tea drinker in time. She outright refused anything hot to drink with breakfast when they cooked at his place their first year because he had nothing but coffee on hand.

“I guess I got used to it.” A lie, and a big, _blatant_ lie, but the sad part was that if he didn't know her so well he might not have noticed. She looked exhausted-- dark circles under her eyes and slumping over the counter.

“Jem, that doesn't even look like coffee. It looks like warm milk with coffee flavoring.” He laughed softly, nervously, and she tried to smile back, but failed.

“So have you made any progress on figuring out where we are?” she asked conversationally. He wasn't convinced, but went with it just for the sake of talking to her again. They had barely spoken in weeks, and it was like there were hinges in his body and brain labeled “ _Jemma_ ” that were slowly rusting from disuse.

“I think we're somewhere in the A-- Appa-- Appalachian mountains, actually.”

“That's what I thought, too. It's really the only thing that makes sense..." Jemma shrugged, half-smiling. Then the smile decayed into a long yawn, and concern took over once more.

“You're sure you're alright?”

“Fine.” She was a bit snappy this morning for certain. “I think I'm going to go outside, see if I can catalogue some of the plants and maybe look for some good samples while we're here.” She took her coffee cup with her and made for the door.

“Don't wander off!” Fitz called out of habit alone. He regretted it for only a moment, until he heard her reply.

“You're not the Doctor, Fitz!” If he wasn't completely mistaken, the tiniest ghost of a laugh followed her call. Fitz fought back a small smile.

 _That's my girl,_ he thought. Just for a moment, just long enough to remind himself that no, Jemma was most definitely not his girl. Not now, not before, not twenty years from now. Not in that way.

In other ways, though, she was completely his, and he was hers. They'd spent many a long night together over seemingly endless mugs of tea, working on projects or studying for exams. She'd cried on his shoulder and bandaged his burns and bruises. They'd gone through dates with other people (though none of them ever lasted terribly long because, let's face it, they spent most of the time talking about their best friend), rigorous Academy training, psych evals, hands-on life-and-death situations, and more than one near death experience, with only the one too close to cut it for either of their tastes.

That woman was his other half. Platonic or romantic, friend or enemy, here or there, _like it or not.._ and he was losing her _._ No, not _losing_. Losing was present tense, and most days he was sure that Jemma was already long gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the great support for this fic!! I'm currently in London being a touristy-tourist and marching in the New Year's Day parade (also hearing literally everyone pronounce Appalachian wrong), but I promised I'd post and here it is.
> 
> Also, I promise there will be less angst soon!


	4. In Which There is a Tree

She couldn't take this fatigue for much longer. Coffee only did so much in the long run, and she was nearly positive that the massive amounts of caffeine were not only bad for her health, but starting to give her headaches. The only good thing about being so far away from SHIELD was that if she wanted to take a nap, she now had time to do so without fear of anyone questioning it.

Naps didn't guarantee there were no nightmares, though. Sleeping in daylight helped, certainly, but never guaranteed. It was just a good thing that Fitz was a heavy sleeper.

Once outside, Jemma took some time to just take a lap around the house. There wasn't much she hadn't already noticed, except for a pair of doors on the back side that seemed to lead to a cellar, but were locked from the inside. She took a mental inventory of the plants here, noting the one or two small trees close to the house that looked sturdy enough to climb, but not quite tall enough to actually hit the house if they fell over in a storm. The place was on even, high ground, with exposed area all around it. Easily defendable, easily fortifiable, and it didn't really look a bit out of place in this area for a random house to be on a lonely mountainside somewhere. This was undoubtedly one of SHIELD's better-kept secrets.

Why would Coulson send them here? Besides the obvious “ _I want you to communicate._ ” Which, by the way, was most likely not going to happen. They could be civil for the sake of others, but they were both too stubborn and damaged to talk right now, and even if she knew not talking would only make things worse, there was still  _stubborn_  in the way. She wouldn't talk if Fitz was just going to constantly interrupt her and never give her a chance to speak.

Mostly what she needed was some time alone to think, preferably with a book for when she ultimately became tired of thinking and did not want to talk to Fitz. She considered going exploring in the woods, but that could potentially be a very bad idea. Jemma would be the first one to say that her sense of direction was terrible, and lacking a walkie-talkie, a map, or Theseus' ball of yarn, she elected to stay where she was.

And quite possibly, to climb a tree...

She hadn't done it since she was a little girl, and it would be the perfect way to stretch her muscles. Jemma was afraid of heights, but for her it was never really the “ _what goes up_ ” part of the equation that bothered her. Going up was easy. You reached and pulled and swung, and suddenly you were there.

It was “ _must come down_ ” that usually posed a problem.

Surely it would be fine, though. The tree wasn't even  _that_  tall. Though it was about a foot above her head, she could reach the first branch easily by bracing her feet on the tree and half-swinging, half climbing her way up. There were some nice spots for sitting and watching the clouds roll by farther up. At the very least it would give her something to do for a while, and take her mind off of everything that was happening.

Climbing was easy after she swung up to the first branch. It was methodical, and it was both a physical and mental challenge. You found your bearings while constantly scouting for a new path, looking for other branches and sturdy spots to stand, while working towards that perfect vantage point at the very top. For a brief moment, she forgot why she ever gave up climbing trees in the first place. Oh, yes. Because  _it wasn't professional_  and  _people with doctorates don't climb trees_. That was what her parents said, anyways. They were probably just concerned for her safety, but they weren't here to voice those concerns right now.

Somewhere near the top-middle of the tree, right where the sturdy branches ended, Jemma found a spot to perch that allowed her to sit fairly comfortably with her back against the trunk. Her feet swung out, legs spread wide and splayed across multiple smaller branches, hands in her lap and eyes towards the sky.

It truly was a beautiful day out here, only slightly dampened by the knowledge that she was only able to see it because of forced psychological leave from her job. She wondered how the people back at the Playground were doing. And what would they think if they saw Jemma Simmons sitting at the top of a tree, sweaty and breathless and looking for pictures in the clouds?

She giggled at that, feeling something almost like peace.

 

~xXx~

 

“Any updates?” Coulson asked.

“Not much.” Bobbi slapped a file folder down on his desk. “That's all we've got, and it's not very detailed. Skye's still digging, though.”

“Okay. What's the summary?” He picked up the surprisingly thin stack of paper and leafed through it.

“We know they didn't have enough time to implant the trigger phrase into Simmons while she was at Hydra, probably because she didn't seem important enough to worry about until it was too late.” It hadn't taken too long to figure that out based on the Hydra hard drive and the Trojan Horse data from Skye's virus a while back.

“That's good, at least. Have we found anything else about why they're looking for her? Or for Fitz? They're really not usually this... forceful in their recruiting.”

“Besides the fact that she was a SHIELD spy? No. I don't know why they think it would be worth it to brainwash her.” Bobbi sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for Coulson's response.

“You don't think it's Hydra, do you?” Coulson asked. He'd always been perceptive.

“In a word, no, and neither does May.” She pointed to a few lines on the printout of Jemma's file from Hydra, recovered from the Trojan Horse just a few weeks back. “She hasn't been flagged for assassination because they still don't think she's much of a threat.”

“So you're thinking... what? That someone's found out she's been studying Skye's cell mutations and now they're using Hydra as a cover up to come at us?” Coulson paused, considering.“You know, that's a possibility. But why go for her and not Skye?”

“They don't need Skye, they need Skye's data—”

“And Jemma is the only one who can access it,” Coulson finished. There were three passwords and two fingerprint scans to get into that file, but the important things were all in Jemma's head. “Not to mention that she's been working with the Terrigen Crystals long enough now that she has some valuable insight, and so does Fitz, since he built the mechanism that's containing them now.”

“Right,” Bobbi nodded. Coulson rubbed his eyes and put down the file. It seemed to Bobbi that he was always tired recently. Even after the effects of the GH325 were gone, he was overworked and far more stressed than it should be.

It also didn't help that there was a threat on two members of his team. They'd gotten a phone call a while back, a blanket signal that went out to all the phones in all the major cities in the United States. The signal couldn't penetrate the Playground, but Mack had been off base and picked up.  _This is a message for agent Coulson of SHIELD. Hydra does not take kindly to losing its assets, including those who are double agents. We_ will _take our scientist from you, along with her research on mutation, by either negotiation or bloodshed. Your choice._

Then the call ended. Simmons was already psychologically unstable, and so was Fitz. It was the perfect excuse to get them away to the safest safe house that SHIELD had, and hope that they managed to patch things up while they were gone. That place was off the grid, off the maps, off the  _books_ , and on top of that they had a little extra security.

“How's Grizzly?” Bobbi asked.

“Hasn't interfered. He's on the alert for anything weird, though.”

“Aren't we all...”

 

~xXx~

 

Around lunchtime, Fitz decided it might be a good idea to go and check on Jemma. She could very well have fallen asleep in the sun, but she also could have gotten herself into a lot of trouble if she'd decided to go out adventuring on her own.

She didn't really seem to be anywhere, though.

He'd walked around the house, checked inside and outside in case she'd slipped past him, and she was nowhere to be seen. There was no way she'd been abducted, not staying in a house that was practically made for someone to disappear from the face of the earth and with SHIELD watching their every move.  _Because, let's be honest,_  he though a little bitterly,  _there's no way they aren't watching_.

“Jemma? Where are you?” he finally called, defeated. No reply. “Hello?”

“Over here!” It sounded like she was yelling, but it was muffled somehow. Walking towards the sound, Fitz tried to think of all the possible places she could be at the moment. There weren't any large holes, no caves or even any flower blushes large enough to conceal her if she was lying in the grass looking at plants. The only thing big enough was actually the tree, but she wouldn't have climbed up there.

Would she?

“Up here!”

He took another few steps forward until he was under the tree, craning his neck to look up. Jemma sat about ten feet above his head, cradled in some of the upper boughs, looking rather sheepish.

“Ah... it appears I'm stuck.”

“Stuck  _how_?” he asked, annoyed. He was more annoyed that she'd put herself in a dangerous situation without thought of how to get out of said situation than actually at her, but he didn't bother to soften the edge to his voice.

“Suck as in I don't know how to get down.” She sounded as if that was absolutely obvious, but at least it was mentally stuck rather than physically.

“What the hell are you even doing up there?” he shouted up, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “You're  _afraid of heights_!” Jemma bristled at that, leaning back against the trunk again.

“Trees aren't so bad. And I  _can_  get myself down, thank you very much. I'm just... taking my time.” Oh, great, he'd made her angry again. She was stubborn on a good day, but recently he couldn't say two words without offending her or causing her to rush off as fast as she could.

Either way, he wasn't going to leave her up there.

Fitz swung up to the first branch with ease, and had started to find his next good foothold before Jemma looked down at the shaking of the tree.

“What are you doing? I  _said_  I can—”

“You said you can, I know, but c— contrary to popular belief, you're not always right.” He didn't miss the way she grabbed on to the surrounding limbs just a little tighter every time the tree shook. She looked terrified, as opposed to the embarrassed, but definitely content, expression on her face from earlier.

As he worked his way upwards, he could almost understand why she'd climbed all the way up here. It was methodical, mind-numbing physical work that didn't even let your mind wander. You had to think every second to keep your balance, to find your holds, to take in the view around you. He'd climbed trees quite a bit in his childhood and up through the Academy days, but Jemma had never wanted to come up. She always said it was because she was afraid. Obviously, that was only a half-truth that had somehow slipped through Jemma's inability to lie convincingly.

When he reached the part of the branches closest to her, he stopped climbing and found a good spot to perch, settling in so closely he could feel her next to him, but couldn't quite see her if he looked straight ahead.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he echoed, gazing through the leafy branches at the clouds. “Nice view.”

“Yeah. Gets a little uncomfortable after a while, though.” She shifted slightly, only tensing the smallest bit when the tree shook beneath her.

“How long have you been up here?” Fitz raised and eyebrow and turned to look at Jemma, who had a pink flush creeping up the back of her neck. She mumbled something he couldn't hear, and he looked at her quizzically.

“About three hours, I think,” she said, a little louder. “Judging by the movement of the sun.”

“You've been stuck up here for  _three hours_?”

“I've been stuck up here for two hours and thirteen minutes. Ish.” Meaning she'd made up that number. Ish. “Anyway, I was up here for a while, and then I tried to get down and it didn't work that well.” She shrugged, still avoiding looking at him. Fitz sighed and shifted back onto his feet, one hand on a sturdy limb and one hand held out to Jemma.

“Let's get you down.”

 _This isn't so bad_ , he thought. As they picked their way back down the tree, with Fitz pointing out good hand and footholds to Jemma, it almost seemed like they were on good terms again. He stifled his laughs as she swore quite colorfully that she was never climbing a tree again, and that if humans were meant to be this far off the ground they would have wings. She nearly lost her footing once, but a combination of her quick reflexes and Fitz's hand on her leg kept her upright on the branch.

“Good?”

“Good.” Jemma nodded.

The only other problem was getting down from the lowest branch, which involved doing something that looked (Fitz imagined) quite a lot like hanging on the branch like a sloth until you felt comfortable enough to drop your legs down and land on your feet. He wobbled slightly as he landed, thinking that it had seemed much easier when he was smaller. Jemma sat on the branch and looked at him skeptically.

“If I do that I'll break something,” she said firmly.

“No you won't. You'll be fine.” Fitz waved off her concerns nonchalantly, but he was really only trying to keep her calm.

“Fine, but if I do it's on your head.” She looked for all the world like an awkward, gangly teenager as she swung down to hang from the branch, giving a small squeal and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Oh, how did I do this when I was a kid!” she moaned, taking a deep breath. In one swift motion she swung her legs down and then quickly let go with her arms, landing in a slightly unsteady crouching position that quickly toppled her onto her back in the grass.

“Jem!” Fitz crouched beside her to make sure she was alright, but he suddenly realized that she was laughing. She accepted his outstretched hand and brushed herself off quickly.

“I'm not doing that again for a while, I think,” she said with a groan. “I think I'm going to go inside and get some lunch, alright?”

“Alright,” Fitz echoed, before realizing something. “Does this mean we're talking again?” Jemma froze in place, like she was trying to work out what to say.

“I want to talk to you, Fitz. I do. It's just there's so much—"

“What happened in the pod, I know.” The strain in his voice was evident even to him.

“That's not—”

“Jemma, I love you.” He felt like he was speaking at a funeral, saying things that needed to be said and then buried forever. It was a fitting metaphor, really. Funerals might end and the dead might be buried, but they always left a kind of blank spot in the world where they might have been. “And I know you don't feel the same.” Fitz spoke slowly, purposefully. She could no doubt tell how hard he was trying not to stutter.

“Fitz—”

“I need you to know that I'm moving on, and that I don't b— blame you. For that, at least.” Jemma cringed at that, but he owed her his honesty at the very least. He was still angry at her for leaving without telling him why, for abandoning him when he needed her. It was an understandable anger, he thought, and coupled with the awkwardness of unrequited romantic feelings, it made interaction with her even more strenuous.

“I need you to let me talk, Leo!” Her voice was so loud that it echoed around them. “If we're going to do this, it can't just be you speaking and me listening— I need— you have to— ” She stopped and took a deep breath, and for a moment Fitz thought her stuttering sounded just a little like him.

“I get it, ok? If you don't want to be around me it's fine-”

“Dammit, Fitz—  _shut up_!” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, eyes squeezed shut. “I don't  _care_  about that— don't you  _understand_? You could have died. You tried to make me _leave you to die_!” She was full out yelling at him now.

“Jem-”

“No, it's my turn to talk! You wanted me to leave you at the bottom of the bloody ocean and I dragged you out. Did they tell you I wouldn't leave you while you were in the coma? Did they tell you I cried when you woke up? I know you don't remember it; you were on too much medication.” He couldn't help the flare of anger in his chest, more for the tone than the words, but a wave of sadness and guilt fought to drown the flame even as it rose.

“Yeah, and then what? You left me! You left to go work with Hydra and you didn't tell me why or for how long. I n— needed you and you weren't there, and now you look at me like I'm b— br— broken every time you see me!” His stuttering was worse when he was emotional, he knew, but that didn't help the frustration.

“Yes, Fitz, I do, because it's _my_ _fault_!” she screamed. “ _I_ was the one who dragged us into the field, _I_ could have done something to get us out of there before Ward dropped the pod, and  _ _I_ couldn't pull you out of the fucking ocean fast enough!_ ”

Fitz felt absolutely deflated, taking an involuntary step backwards. It was almost scarier to hear her cursing at him than it was when she'd ignored him completely.

Almost.

“I don't care about the brain damage. I don't care about whatever romantic feelings you have— I mean, I care, but—” She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “ _Whatever_. All I want is for you to recover. If you want to be angry with me, then fine, but at least do it for the right reasons.” With that, Jemma turned and ran back into the house as quickly as she could.

 

~xXx~

 

Fitz was on her heels, but she was faster than him because she knew where she was going. At the corner of the upstairs hallway there was a closet with a ladder inside that led to a roof hatch. She was into the closet with the door shut and up the ladder before he even made it up the stairs.

He blamed her for leaving without telling him why or for how long. He blamed her for all the lonely nights, all the struggling his way back up the long road to recovery alone. Maybe he even blamed her for not swimming  _quite_  fast enough, or even for pulling him out of the pod in the first place. She certainly blamed herself for that on some level, even if it wasn't logical at all. Blame wasn't logical; it was the nature of the beast.

Maybe she deserved it all.

_This is ridiculous, Jemma. You can't keep running from him- he's your best friend!_

_Was_ , she reminded herself.  _Fitz_ was _her best friend._  Now he didn't want to speak to her and blamed her for everything, and there wasn't even a hope they could patch this up. She'd always held on to the hope that if they made a clean break they might both be able to heal, but with SHIELD clinging on for dear life and working in practically the same space every day, there wasn't any chance  _for_  a clean break. All of this mess was her fault and she couldn't even get in a word edgewise to explain why she'd done what she'd done.

Worse than that, she couldn't even tell him she'd done it all because she loved him so much, because he might take that in a way she wasn't ready for him take it.

And she did love him. She loved him like a sister loves her brother, like another half of her own heart, and it felt like a piece of her had been torn out when he was away. However, she hadn't ever really considered more than friendship with him for longer than a passing moment here and there.

That was such a stupid term anyways, she thought bitterly.  _More than friendship_ . What lovers could be closer than they were? There were newlyweds that couldn't rattle off all their spouse's hobbies, there were people who were engaged that didn't know all their partner's ticks. There were old married couples who didn't talk and much as she and Fitz, who didn't compliment each other the way they did. They were... something. She didn't know  _what_ , exactly, but they were a matched set. They  _went together_. It was all very confusing, really.

The nine days that Fitz was in a coma were the longest days of her life. She'd stayed with him, absolutely refused to leave his bedside, and when the doctors needed an extra pair of hands she helped them take him off life support. She watched him take his first breath, watched him wake up.

And then she left. Disappeared into the night and the secrets.

Secrets were the foundation that held things together, back at the Playground, but they weren't at the Playground anymore, and now the foundation was crumbling beneath their feet. The only way they could stand this time was by reaching out for each other, but she wasn't sure they had even the strength to do that.

 

 

 

 


	5. In Which Jemma Trips on a Rug

Fitz wasn't sure what exactly had happened earlier. Jemma had rushed inside and he couldn't find her anywhere, until about an hour later he distinctly heard her door clicking closed upstairs. She didn't come back down for supper. They needed to talk about this. They  _had_  to talk about it at some point— it had only been four days and they couldn't get around it!

Well, alright, they'd _tried_ to talk and it didn't work.

She blamed herself. He couldn't believe it— was that why she'd avoided him for so long? Because she blamed herself for what happened? The shock was still wearing off as he turned things over in his head, and eventually decided that he couldn't think about them any longer before it tore him apart that he couldn't at least speak to her about them.

He fished through the shelf of DVDs until he found some black and white episodes of Doctor Who and sat on the couch watching them for a while, sketching designs on and off. After a while he realized that he'd nodded off with papers in his lap, and the DVD menu screen was playing on repeat. He stretched sleepily, turned off the television, piled up the pages of designs in a semi-neat stack on the coffee table, and trudged up the stairs to bed. There was no telling how late it was, but it was very dark out and Jemma was definitely asleep by now, so he tried to be as quiet as possible when he walked past her door.

“ _Fitz_...”

He froze. There was no way she was calling his name.

“Fitz,  _no_!”

There it was again, followed by mumbling. He moved a little closer, nearly pressing his ear to the door so he could hear more easily.

“We'll get out! Fitz, just please—  _NO_!”

The last word was practically a shriek, followed by a sudden moment of silence, and then sobbing. Loud, gasping sobs that were quickly muted into soft, hiccuping cries.

 _Jemma's_ cries.

If he were a braver man, he might have knocked on the door. He might have gone inside and held her until she'd cried herself out, and then begged her to explain, begged to know what her nightmares were about. He might have demanded they talk right there until sunrise or longer, might not have cared if they woke up if the same bed, exhausted from crying and confessing.

He might not have dreamed about the water and the dark while he was beside her, might not have woken gasping for air and feeling like there was a brick on his chest.

However, no matter how much Fitz wanted to be a brave man, in this moment he couldn't be.

He shuffled back to his room in a state of shock, locked the door, and let his tears fall in silence. Fitz hated crying, and he hated being afraid. He'd spent his whole life being afraid of being afraid, really, and all it had done was perpetuate more fear. His worry for Jemma overshadowed all that now, though.

Why hadn't she told him? She could get some help, maybe some therapy. There wasn't really much time for psych evaluations around the Playground, and no one qualified to give them. It was unlikely anyone knew the real extent of her trauma, himself included. Coulson checked up on her, of course, like he checked up on everyone, but that didn't mean the Director knew. It didn't mean she was getting help, and it especially didn't mean either of them should have to face it alone.

Not when he woke up screaming her name, too.

He'd have to tell her, eventually, tell her that he knew. He couldn't sit by and do nothing any longer. No matter what was happening between them now, they had to talk it out.

The next morning was the most opportune time he expected to have. Jemma was downstairs in the kitchen again, drinking coffee and reading a book. She looked up long enough to say hello when she heard his footsteps before going back to her reading. The dark circles were still under her eyes, and she tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

“What's wrong?” he asked, point blank.

“What? Nothing's wrong. I'm just sitting here.” Still a terrible liar, it seemed. Not as bad as she had been before her undercover work, but still terrible. He sat down beside her and tried to make eye contact. The sudden thought occurred that it might just be a problem around _him_ , but he pushed it away quickly.

“I heard you last night.” As he spoke, Jemma visibly stiffened. He gently, tentatively reached out for her hand, wondering if she might push him away.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. She didn't look up.

“I can't.” It sounded small and frightened, and it hurt him to hear it.

“Why not? What's so bad that you can't talk to  _me_  about it?”

“Because I make you worse!” she blurted out, pulling her hand away. “The longer you're around me, the worse you get. I don't need you worried about me and sticking around because then you won't get any better at all!”

“What?” He was shocked, utterly shocked. Was that the whole reason why she left? The reason she went off to infiltrate Hydra when he needed her most? It was all because she thought she made him worse? “Jemma, no, that's not true—”

“It is around me.” She blinked, and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. “Every time I come around, you regress. Even Mack noticed it.”

“He... What are you saying?” It was impossible to pull apart the combination of anger, sorrow, and confusion whirling around in his brain right now. Fitz turned in his chair to face her, but this time when he reached out she flinched away.

“I'm saying I left you because you were better off without me. I'm saying the brain damage isn't the issue, and I'm saying that the way you feel isn't the issue, because that's— that's something we have to tackle together a day at a time because  _I_ don't even know how I feel!  _ _I'm_ the issue, Fitz_!” By the time she reached the end of her speech there were steady tears rolling down her cheeks. “And I'm sorry, because this isn't about me and I'm not trying to  _make_  it about me. All I want is my best friend back, and it might be selfish, but if it means leaving you so you can recover, that's what it means.” She sniffled loudly, getting up to rummage around in the cabinets for something.

It was like a lightbulb clicked on. That was part of the problem- a _huge_ part. He'd been making everything about _him_. All this time Fitz had been positive that it was _his_ misstep that made her move away, that _he_ was the center of this situation, but he'd never really stopped to think about how _Jemma_ might be feeling. What on earth had happened to him that concern for her had slipped his mind entirely?

“I can't leave, though, can I? That's the problem. I'm stuck here and you're stuck here, and now neither one of us is going to get any better.” She found a box of tissues in the corner closet, unceremoniously slamming the door shut.

There were so many things he could have said. There were so many things he  _wanted_  to say. In fact, there was no good place to start with making up for everything they had both done, for everything that could have started to clear up with this one confession, but his mouth opened and words tumbled out before he could stop them.

“Why the coffee?”

Jemma laughed wetly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“I haven't been sleeping well, and it mas more caffeine than tea. Also, it reminds me a little of you, back during our first month at the Academy.”

“I remember...” he trailed off, gazing off towards some far off place now lost in time to both of them, and for a few seconds they both existed in that space. Fitz's room, the coffee maker dripping, watching movies or doing homework late into the night... And then Jemma sniffled, and the moment was gone.

“I'm sorry, Fitz. I only wanted to help, and it just... I messed everything up.”

“Well, you did manage to successfully infiltrate Hydra, at least for a while. That counts for something.” Again, words tumbling out before he could think. Fitz was absolutely positive he sounded like an idiot, but that was alright just at this moment. It wasn't about him.

“Messed that up, too,” she mumbled.

“Hey, don't beat yourself up about that.”

“You know me,” she sighed, finally coming back to sit down next to him again, tissues still in hand. “I want to fix this— this  _thing_. Whatever it is. If I'm completely honest with you I don't know how I feel about anything right now, especially not...  _us_. In  _that_  sense. Which is honestly something we really need to talk about, but there's a bit of a laundry list of those things at the moment—”

“Jemma,” he interrupted gently. "It's not your fault. None of it, okay? We did the best we c— could with what we had. And, for the record, you are probably the least selfish person on the planet." She swallowed thickly and nodded.

“As long as we're being honest... I want you to know that I'd leave in a heartbeat if it meant your recovery,” she said softly, “but I know I can't imagine my life without you in it. I don't want to.”

He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. He was disappointed, but he'd been disappointed for a while and the shock had really worn off by now. It wasn't as if she was  _required_  to return his affections, after all. If he was really honest with himself, though, knowing that Jemma cared for him that deeply even on a platonic level meant more to him than a declaration of love would have right now. It was enough for him, and maybe over time the romance would fade away.

Maybe not, either, but he would be alright as long as she was there.

“I can live with that,” Fitz said slowly. “But we need to t— talk. Actually talk. One day at a time, okay?” Jemma nodded tearfully and reached out to hug him. After a brief moment his arms came around her, tentative at first, and then tighter.

“Tell me we're going to make it, Fitz,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

“We always do.”

 

~xXx~

 

“You owe me ten bucks,” Bobbi said smugly, holding a hand out to May. They were taking their shift reviewing the security cam footage from the safe house, and Bobbi had paused right on the frame of FitzSimmons hugging in the kitchen, directly in view of the camera. She fished a bill out of her pocket and handed it over.

“Best ten bucks I ever lost. How's progress?”

“It's... progress,” Hunter said with a shrug. He'd come to join them for the tape review, and much to May's amusement, had brought a large bowl of popcorn. Bobbi had frowned, but still stole some when she thought he wasn't looking.

“We've narrowed down a list of who might be trying to use Hydra as a cover, but it's surprisingly extensive considering they'd have to know that Hydra exists in the first place. Also, they would most likely have been in their good graces at some point. Then they'd have to know about Jemma going undercover, which is less of a problem if they both know the existence of and have interacted with Hydra in the past.” Bobbi seemed frustrated, and rightly so. The life of her friend could be on the line and they were getting next to nowhere (at least, May suspected that's how she blonde agent perceived it).

“Yep,  _and_  we know that they'd need to have the technology to send a blanket signal like that,” Hunter added.

“Let me guess: Ian Quinn is your top suspect.” May raised an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation. He was the most obvious choice, especially since he'd disappeared after Garrett's death.

“Along with William Stryker and Erik Lehnsherr, yeah,” Hunter said, nodding. “We haven't had any trouble with them on the SHIELD spectrum in the past, but we know they've got a history of... fascination with mutation.”

“So in short, you're telling me I need to make a phone call to our friends in New York?” They all turned around to see Coulson standing in the doorway, looking over their shoulders at the paused screen. “Ah, hugging. Hugging's good.” He nodded towards the computer.

“How long have you been standing there?” Hunter asked.

“Long enough to know I need to get in on the betting ring,” he said with a smile. “Give me a day or two to get in contact with these guys- they're hard to get a hold of.”

“Who's he getting a hold of?” Hunter stage-whispered after Coulson walked off. May smirked and Bobbi just rolled her eyes. If he didn't know, he'd find out soon enough.

 

~xXx~

 

It felt wonderful to actually hug Fitz again. They had a lot to work out, but... that was where he was right. They needed to take it one day at a time. She gently extracted herself from his arms, fighting the sudden urge to kiss his cheek. At one time that would have been alright, but not now.

 _One day at a time_.

“So, as long as we're stuck here, we should probably explore a bit,” Jemma said, quickly changing the subject. She'd done far too much crying in the past several days. It was probably good for her to let out that pent-up emotion, but now she needed something practical to do before her brain exploded from inactivity.

“As in outside explore or inside explore? And can it wait until after I finish breakfast?” Ftiz almost sounded like a whiny child, and she fought back a smirk, walking around to take her dirty dishes to the sink.

“I was thinking outside, but nearby. This is a SHIELD facility, so it's got to have secrets. We already know we're connected to basically nothing in the middle of nowhere—”

“And I think it's off the grid, too. There's got to be either a m— massive power source somewhere or a whole lot of freakishly efficient solar panels on the roof that we didn't see. I haven't been able to find anything definite, though, and I've been exploring the woods.”

“Good point,” Jemma conceded. “I can confirm there aren't any solar panels on the roof, though. At least, none that I saw. I think— oh!” she cut off as she tripped over the rug in the kitchen, grabbing the edge of the countertop for support.

“Are you alright?!” Fitz seemed to automatically jump up from his chair, but she waved him away.

“I'm fine, don't worry.” She leaned down to slide the rug back into place, but stopped short when she noticed a very deliberate seam across the wooden boards of the floor. It wasn't noticeable until you moved the rug, but... “Fitz... look at this.”

He moved closer as Jemma rolled the rest of the rug away, looking over her shoulder and down at the area on the floor where the run had once been. Jemma ran her fingers around the seam on the wood- it was a perfect rectangle, with ninety-degree corners and clear seams that were deeper than the grooves between planks, but no wider.

“Storm cellar, maybe?” he offered.

"Why would you need a storm cellar in the mountains?" Jemma pointed out. It hardly ever stormed in that area and it wasn't like a tornado was likely to form in this terrain. Fitz shrugged.

“Just a thought. Where's the hatch?”

“I don't know...” Jemma knocked on the rectangular area to see if it sounded hollow or thinner than the rest of the floor, but the sound was the same all around. She ran her hands flat across the wooden boards, looking for something that might be concealed. “There!”

It was a near-invisible button disguised as a knot in the wood, but when Jemma pressed it the door let out a hydraulic hiss, and the platform rose about two inches off the ground.

“Hinges over here,” Fitz said, gesturing to the side. “This lifts up.” He pulled on the opposite side and it flipped open like a lid, revealing a dark hole and the top of a ladder. The inside of the hatch had a wheel on it that looked a little like a hatch on an old submarine might.

“Manual opening?” Jemma asked, gently brushing her fingers over the wheel.

“Probably. My guess is that the door runs on el— elect—”

“Electricity.”

“Right. Opens that way, maybe with a manual switch somewhere nearby in case of a p— power cut...” He pulled open the cabinets underneath the sink and looked around for a moment, then gestured for Jemma to come over. It was a bit hard to see in the dark space, but he pointed out a large valve in the corner. “That one's not connected to the pipes. It's a good fake to the untrained eye, but I'd bet it's a manual release for the outside.”

“So... it's a bunker, then?” Jemma asked. When she turned to look at him he was so close that their noses nearly touched.

“I— um—” he pulled away quickly and knocked the back of his head into the side of the cabinet with a pained hiss.

“Oh,  _Fitz_!” Jemma automatically moved so she could check to make sure he hadn't cut himself

“Bunker. Most likely,” he muttered, trying to change the subject even as he rubbed the back of his head. “Hey, I'm fine, alright? Just a bruise.” She reluctantly moved away and went to the closet, fishing around through the shelves for flashlights and batteries. It only took a minute to find them, and when she came out she handed one to Fitz and clicked on the other one.

“If we're going to be living on top of this thing, I want to know what's down there. Let's go.” She started to go down the ladder with flashlight in hand, but Fitz stopped her.

“If you insist on going first, then at least let me hold the light. You'll be able to hold on better.” He gently took the flashlight from her hand and shined it down the hatch. The square tunnel down from the hatch was about ten feet long, with the ladder eventually ending on the floor in the middle of an open space. Fitz tossed down her flashlight and she held the light while he climbed down. The room was mid-sized and made entirely of metal. On one side there were four bunk beds, and on the other there were shelves of food and supplies.

“I think we're about twenty feet down,” Fitz said, looking around. “Ah- lights!”

There was a panel on the wall by the shelves that Jemma hadn't noticed, but Fitz immediately hurried over to turn the lights on. The faded SHIELD logo on the wall between the bed was now visible, as was a thick binder on one of the beds with SHIELD BUNKHOUSE printed on the front.

“I think I've found the user's guide,” she said, picking up the book.

Bunkhouse.  _Bunker_ House. What was it with SHIELD and puns? The Guest House had a “guest” from another world and now the Bunkhouse had an actual bunker. Coulson seriously needed to rethink some of his code names when he finished rewriting the protocols...

The book had a brief table of contents covering the house, the grounds, the surrounding area, and the bunker itself. Jemma flipped to the section titled “Overview.”

 

> _The Bunkhouse is one of three off-the-books SHIELD Safe Houses, set in specifically selected locations to offer privacy and protection. It runs off the power grid through specially designed solar power built into the shingles and nearby generators that run on gasoline. It can be heated entirely by the wood stove in the main cellar which can be accessed through the closet under the staircase, and is stocked with enough tools and equipment that our agents could survive here with no contact and no supplies. There are three security cameras installed upstairs that transmit data over only one SHIELD frequency. The main doorknob uses a combination of fingerprint analysis, voice pattern ID, and retina scanning to ensure security. The bunker below the house is designed to survive nuclear warfare,complete with SHIELD-frequency distress beacons and blanket distress calls. In short: if you're reading this, you're probably in it deep. Good luck._
> 
> _Director Fury_

Well,  _that_  didn't sound reassuring. Maybe Coulson had just sent them here because it was off the books and Hydra wouldn't know about it. Not because, you know, there happened to be a bunker designed for nuclear warfare right underneath their feet. Fitz had walked up to read over her shoulder, and pointed to a line at the very bottom of the page.

_In case of emergency, contact Grizzly._

“Ok. So... we've been moved to a SHIELD safe house that's off the books—” Fitz began.

“In the middle of nowhere—”

“—with as little connection to SHIELD as p— possible, while still giving them the ability to check in on their agents.”

“I don't like this,” Jemma said firmly.

“Nor me. At least we know where we are now, though—” He flipped a few pages forward and pointed to the black-and-white printout of a map. “North Carolina/Virginia border, it looks like. And apparently that other X is where whoever Grizzly is lives.”

“Good to know,” she murmured. It looked like Grizzly was stationed about five or six miles out from where they were. Close enough to get there in a hurry with transport, but far enough that if someone walked and took their time, no trace between the two places might ever be seen.

“So, I guess the new question is, is Grizzly friend... or foe?” Fitz asked dramatically. Jemma rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

“We can burn that bridge when we get to it, I suppose. Maybe one of these frequencies is a direct line to him?” Jemma stared at the panel full of knobs and switches, but didn't dare touch a thing. She could work several types of complicated electronics very well, but radios weren't one of them, especially radios without labeled switches.

“We'll have to read through the book later and find out.” Fitz tucked the binder under his arm and took a last sweeping look around the room. “Ready to go up?”

Jemma nodded, starting for the ladder. Once she was at the top and aiming the flashlight downwards, Fitz switched off the bunker lights and worked his way back up. Back in the kitchen, they sealed the hatch shut again and replaced the rug, sitting the heavy binder on the counter and staring at it like it was a ticking bomb. Jemma broke the silence first.

“Breakfast?” She asked hopefully. Fitz smiled.

“I'll make the tea.”

So it was that they wound up cooking together again, just like at the Academy, just like mornings on the Bus when no one else was awake yet. Jemma did the actual cooking while Fitz handled the tea and slicing up the vegetables for omelettes. At first she was a bit worried that his problems with fine motor skills might get in the way, but he did surprisingly well with chopping and slicing. It could have been that the motion was methodical, or simply that he wasn't trying to be as delicate with it as he usually was around machinery. Jemma handled the eggs and strips of bacon, knowing that without a doubt Fitz would either burn the food or burn himself on the grease. Quite possibly, both. They always joked that it was no surprise that cooking and baking came naturally to Jemma- she  _was_ a chemist, after all.

“I've missed this,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Working around my superpower to somehow burn  _everything_  I try to cook?” Fitz teased. Jemma laughed and swatted him with a dishcloth.

“No, just... being... like this.” She shrugged, moving an omelette onto each plate as Fitz divided the cooked bacon between then.

“Me too,” he admitted. “Do you remember that time we n— nearly set the kitchen on fire?” He asked as she turned off the stove.

“Is it bad that I have to ask which one?” she sighed, but smiled nonetheless.

“The cookies.”

“Oh,  _no_ , that was not my fault!” Jemma declared. “Someone forgot to turn off the burner after they cooked the pasta— which, by the way, wasn't even fully cooked—”

“Always with the pasta,” he muttered.

“— and then I sat the cookies on the stove to cool on top of an unknowingly hot burner!” There had been a charred mess in minutes, and the kitchen was full of smoke before they could do anything about it. Thankfully, the fire department hadn't been called because of some quick action with the windows and the fans, but they'd gotten several odd looks from the dorm staff.

A discussion of several other memorable kitchen incidents followed— the time that some oil had dripped onto one of the burners and resulted in a brief but terrifying ring of flames around the spaghetti pot, the day Fitz had exploded a microwave lasagna in her room and she'd promised to make him the  _real_  dish if he cleaned the mess and never microwaved lasagna again, and never forget the Great Christmas Turkey Disaster of 2004.

They didn't speak of that one.

Breakfast was the one thing that Fitz could manage most of on his own if he had to, which had resulted in more than one late night eating pancakes together when he found Jemma in the lab or studying and wormed out of her that she  _might_  have forgotten to eat that day. Usually they settled into their normal routine, though, which was Fitz chopping ingredients and doing simple tasks while Jemma did the more delicate part of the work. When they baked, it was generally reduced to Fitz handing her ingredients and making terrible puns, but that was alright, too.

She took a sip from her mug of tea and was almost surprised to find that Fitz still remembered exactly how she liked it. It had been so long since they'd done something like this- breakfast, tea, company. Besides the fact that they were in a remote SHIELD safe house, things almost felt normal again.

Maybe they really would be alright...

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! College classes have started back up again, so yay for scrambling around like a crazy person for a while... Thanks so much for all your fantastic support! It really makes my day.  
> Also, fun fact: both those kitchen disasters really happened to me.


	6. In Which Important Conversations Occur

They spent a large portion of the next several days in a comfortable semi-silence, alternately reading through the large binder that outlined every detail of the place they were staying, exploring the woods, doing laundry, and watching Fringe reruns on DVD (no wifi, no Netflix, but the movie selection was surprisingly comprehensive). Jemma made notes in the margins of the binder (because “We might need them later and anyone else who stays here might find them useful”) until she started nodding off and excused herself to sleep. There was a strange sort of truce between them as they eased their way back into their friendship, talking about books and science in large quantities, and reminiscing in small doses.

Connecting their past selves to the present was exactly what caused a problem, so they were taking that slowly as well. Things were different now because _they_ were different. Trying to base this new page of their journey together on past memories wouldn't help either of them to move forward, even if every day gone still seemed precious in their minds.

Fitz's sleeping schedule had been thrown off by his late nights, and he didn't expect to go to bed for another several hours. However, reading the Bunkhouse binder seemed to pass time quickly, and before he knew it he was nodding off, too. His messy handwriting now littered the pages right beside Jemma's, looking almost like one of their old lab notebooks. Leaving the book open on the table, he flicked off the lights and went upstairs, trying not to think about what he'd heard a few nights ago. Jemma had seemed fine since then, at least when he'd gone by.  _Maybe it was a one-time thing_ , he thought, but in the back of his mind he was certain it wasn't.

His fears were confirmed when he walked by her door.

“Fitz, no, _please—_ ” Her pleading was followed by an unintelligible scream that broke his resolve. Fitz threw the door open and rushed inside just as Jemma sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. He was by her side in a second, wrapping his arms around her shaking body without even thinking twice.

“Jemma, it's okay— I'm here, I'm fine, we're b— both fine!” He mentally cursed his stuttering even as she seemed to relax a little. 

“Fitz?” she whispered, almost fearfully. “ _Fitz_!” Jemma's arms came up and wrapped around his neck, resting her head against his chest. 

“Yeah, it's me.” He traced circles on her back almost subconsciously, feeling her relax and her breathing start to slow.

“I'm sorry.” Jemma sounded embarrassed, and tried to pull away, but Fitz held her in place.

“Oh, no you don't. We're going to stay right here un— until you feel safe again.” He shifted so he was sitting on the side of her bed and they could both be a little more comfortable. The tension in her muscles was still there, like she wanted to pull away and hide again, but whatever war was going on inside her head ended with her surrendering to his embrace, shaking against his chest as the last of her tears soaked through his shirt.

“I don't feel unsafe,” she finally said, “but I watch you die every single night. Then I wake up, and you aren't there, and it's so hard to convince myself that you're really alive. But then I remember...” Here she trailed off, and he knew what the unspoken words were. She remembered that they weren't talking, that he was angry with her. Jemma didn't look up at him, like it was easier to talk if she couldn't see his face.

“I dream it, too,” Fitz admitted. “It's like it's on replay.”

“Why didn't you ever say?” Jemma asked, finally looking up at him. “You could have—”

“What? Gotten some therapy? Look who's talking,” he said pointedly. “And I don't dream as often as I used to, anyhow. Probably effects of the coma.” That was what he thought, at least. 

“I did have some therapy and some medication for insomnia and panic attacks when I was working for Hydra,” Jemma said, shifting so she could sit with her back against the headboard. 

“You have panic attacks?” Fitz asked quickly, moving to sit beside her.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, giving a small shrug.

“Wait... was that what the mess in the bathroom was about a while back?” Understanding finally dawned on him. It was the only thing that made sense— the shower must have triggered flashbacks. 

“Yeah.” She visibly winced, like it was uncomfortable to mention it. “Hydra's pretty thorough with their psych evaluations for an agency with their... recruiting history. Then again, maybe that's why they're thorough. The meds ran out a while back, but I didn't want...” Her eyes flickered down for just a moment, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. Fitz had thought he was a burden to the team after his coma, and now Jemma thought the same thing about her nightmares and her anxiety. 

“Of course, because if you're not in tip-top evil condition, why be there?” Fitz said sarcastically. His voice was a bit watery, but it earned a small laugh from Jemma, who curled against him like a cat seemingly without even thinking. They used to do this all the time when one of them couldn't sleep, just sit there pressed together until they both nodded off, and if they were a little cramped from sleeping sitting up in the morning, neither of them said a thing.

“I did talk to Skye, when I could. We both needed someone. She's having a hard time with... you know, Trip.” She tensed up again, like bracing for an impact, for the quick anger that had almost become something like a habit for him now. He didn't feel angry, though. He felt guilty, and empty. Guilty because he hadn't been there for Jemma when she needed someone to talk to while she grieved for her friend (even if at one point he had been pretty jealous of said friend). The strange sense of emptiness wasn't a feeling he could define, though, like something that sat in the pit of his stomach and stayed until someone forced it away.

“Were you two... close?” Fitz asked, glad she couldn't see his expression clearly in the dark. He didn't want to talk about this, but Jemma needed it, and in a way he did, too.

“Yeah. I mean, not as close as he was to Skye, but we were friends and... I just keep thinking how strange it is to know he won't be there anymore. It's like a person-sized hole in your life where someone used to be...” 

That might have been it, then. The empty feeling might have been that hole, the missing piece. It wasn't Trip-sized, though. The longer Fitz was around him, the more he'd come to accept that Trip was indeed a great guy, that his jealousy was unwarranted (if unconscious), and that he would be a wonderful friend with time. Unfortunately, time was never on your side when you worked with SHIELD for a living. Trip was gone, and it hurt, but he wasn't the missing piece.

“You are, too, I think,” Jemma said softly. 

“I'm what?”

“Missing,” she clarified. “There's an empty spot where you used to be, except it's not a spot or a hole. It's more like a... it's a chunk, kind of. A chunk of me just gone.” She let her head rest against his shoulder in a gesture almost like defeat. Fitz hadn't missed her wording, either. Not a chunk of her life, but a chunk of her. For a moment, he wondered if she'd really done that on purpose, but he supposed there was no way to ever really no. It gave him a small, selfish comfort to know that she missed him as much as he missed her.

“Me, too. I miss you, Jemma.” He slipped his arm around her to pull her just a little closer.

“I'm scared,” she whispered, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. “I want my best friend back, but I don't want to go back to silence and avoiding each other after this is over and we're back to normal again.”

“Normal is you and me together. I'd p— personally like to get back to that.” He sounded more confident than he felt, but was happy to feel Jemma nod beside him.

“If we can.”

“If you're worried about my feelings getting in the way—”

“No, it's not that. I'm worried about... I'm really confused, Fitz.” She seemed to change her course of thought at the last second, and it made him feel odd that he wasn't sure what she might have said next. There was a time whenever everyone was sure they could read each other's minds, but now everything felt uncertain and uncomfortable.

“We'll work it out together, just like always.”

“I hope so.”

They fell asleep like that without really meaning to— a moment of silence gone too long leading to dozing off together. Fitz woke once during the night gasping for air, and Jemma just assured him that they were alright and let him hug her against him far too tightly. It was like a life raft in a storm to have her there, to feel her breathing against his chest and murmuring in his ear softly. He'd cried with her in his arms, and more than anything he knew that Jemma would never judge a show of emotion like others might.

His feelings were a whirl of love and fear rattling around inside his chest, the immense warmth of having her near mixed with the fear of the nightmares and a healthy amount of confused longing connected to his romantic feelings. They'd done this before, but now that he finally realized the extent of his love for her, it felt so different.

Or did it? Was it only the  _ concept _ that felt different? Where was the line between friendship and romantic love? Was it physical or was it mental? Some people described the difference as a new level of intimacy, but most of those times he was certain they meant sex. He'd loved Jemma for a long time, and it just so happened that somewhere along the way he'd started wanting to kiss her, too.

Jemma said earlier that she'd felt confused, and now he did, too.

 

~xXx~

 

“Ok, team. What you're about to see is Level 8 security clearance. I realize we don't really have security clearance anymore, but that's how important it is. Think before you open your mouth.”

Coulson stared at the large video screen in front of the conference table, thankful his team was there and also a little nervous of what they might say under pressure. Eventually the call was accepted, and the screen switched to an image of a bald man surrounded by four members of his own team— a man with metal blades in his hands, a woman with snow white hair, a man with sunglasses hiding his eyes, and a woman with a samurai sword on her belt, all in full uniform.

In Coulson's humble opinion, SHIELD's black tactical gear and his suit just didn't quite stand up.

“Director Coulson.”

“Professor Xavier. It's good to finally get in contact. I understand it would have been preferable to meet in person, but as both of us are wanted men and neither wants to disclose our location, you can see why this was the better option for all.” Coulson shifted slightly in his chair and tried to look as intimidating as possible. The Professor nodded approvingly.

“Agreed. Now, I understand that you need my help tracking down two suspects in a recent case of yours. Is it possible for me to know the details before I agree?” It was a test of sorts, a test of trust. Part of the reason they'd agreed to a conference call was because of the need for reliable witnesses on both sides. They were both technically members of vigilante groups now, and had no history of working together in the past (in fact, they'd had a scuffles). Conference calls were safer for everyone, and so was trusting Charles Xavier with the details of this mission.

“Two of our scientists are currently under watch at a remote SHIELD safe house due to an open threat made over the phone lines. The threat claimed to be Hydra, but we don't think they are, and we know they're specifically interested in the research done on one of my agent's possibly mutated cells.”

“Yes, the brunette with the bangs,” the Professor said, nodding. “I took the liberty of looking in on you all with Cerebro directly before the call to make sure you are who you say you are. You can't be too careful— Hydra has already been at our door twice, with admittedly messy results on their side.”

“I understand. We scoured our databanks for you all.” He glanced at May, who nodded right on cue.

“How did you know it was me?” Sky asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“He can read minds,” the man with the claws said, shrugging.

“Is he kidding?” Skye asked, looking to Coulson for an answer. The Director shook his head slowly. “Oh.”

“I can read minds, but not yours. You've got a very powerful psychic shield, and in your line of work that's going to be very useful.”

“A psychic...what?” Skye seemed more nervous than anything.

“Shield,” Xavier repeated. 

“The irony,” Lance muttered.

“She's still adjusting,” May explained, covering Hunter's slip. “More to the matter at hand, we're contacting you because we thought you might know where to find William Stryker or Erik Lehnsherr.”

“You won't find Erik unless he wants to be found,” Charles said firmly, “though I don't think this is really his style. Was your agent born a mutant?”

“Ah... that's the thing. There's like a ninety-eight percent—” 

“One hundred,” May interrupted.

“One hundred percent chance that I'm actually an alien. With earthquake powers. Probably,” Sky finished, cutting her eyes at May briefly.

“Earthquake powers?” the woman on screen with the sword suddenly seemed very interested.

“Long story,” Coulson said quickly. “The short version is that something happened to her that our scientist was studying, and now she's in danger. Actually, if that research ends up in the wrong hands we could all be in danger. We need to find out from who, and all roads lead to asking for your help.”

“We'll gladly help you,” the Professor said, nodding. “And we'll start by locating Colonel Stryker.” Four pairs of eyes on screen all turned very pointedly towards the man who had metal blades coming out of his hands. They very quickly retracted back into his skin and he held up his hands in a surrendering motion.

“Guys, I just got back from an aborted timeline, here. Don't ask me where he is.”

“Now that's a story I'd like to hear,” Skye muttered.

“We'll find him,” the man with the sunglasses said confidently, directing his words to SHIELD.

“Contact us when you do. I hear your team has been trying to nail this guy for years for illegal genetic experiments. Maybe we can work together on this one.” Coulson waited patiently as the Professor looked to his team for confirmation. Every one of them nodded their agreement.

“It seems we can.”

As soon as the screen clicked off, Coulson slumped back into his chair. He'd made a lot of stressful phone calls in the past, but that had to be near the top of the list. SHIELD and the X-Men traditionally didn't get along swimmingly, but maybe the new incarnation of SHIELD could patch things up. They sat in silence for a moment before Skye finally spoke.

“That was cool.”

 

~xXx~

 

Sunlight streamed in through the cracked blinds and Jemma blinked in the light, curling back into the warmth beside her. She'd woken with a jolt, heart beating fast, but her fear at the dream was fading quickly.

_ Wait _ .

Another streak of panic rammed into her like a brick, but then she remembered where she was and started to calm down. The safe house. It was fine, it was  _ fine _ , and the warmth beside her was nothing but Fitz, still soundly asleep with one arm around her as she curled against his side. Her first thought was that having him _actually_ there was quite a lot warmer than his jumper alone, and she felt herself start to blush just a little even as she settled back against him. She'd always gotten cold during the night, but now the duvet was kicked away, their legs tangled together, and she felt perfectly comfortable.

It was almost scary how comfortable she felt, just lying beside him, and it wasn't the physical comfort. She felt  _ emotionally _ comfortable, absolutely mentally relaxed. It had been a long time since either of them had let their guard down like this. And, what's more, she didn't feel more exhausted than she did when she went to bed. Jemma watched the rise and fall of his chest for a minute longer before very slowly untangling herself from him and sliding off the side of the bed. He shifted slightly, but he didn't seem to wake up at all.

Jemma silently rummaged through her closet and drawers for a change of clothes, and her hand was on the doorknob before she heard Fitz speak.

“Is that my old MIT jumper?” he asked groggily, rolling over on his side.

“Ah... quite possibly.” Jemma felt a blush creeping up her neck. “I may have... _borrowed_ it  when I moved your things from the Bus to the Playground.”

“Looks better on you anyways,” he said, shaking his head. Fitz sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched as Jemma awkwardly shuffled her feet, still standing by the door and unsure what to say. She finally settled on something simple.

“How'd you sleep?” It might have been a mistake to ask that, but it was too late to take it back now.

“Much better than I have been. You?”

“Same. I'm going to go... go,” she said quickly, before rushing out of the room.

_ Oh, stupid, stupid! You've just made it worse now! _ She closed the door to the bathroom behind her and tried to look herself in the eye in the mirror, but she couldn't even do that. Did they just cross a line back there? Or had the line just appeared that she didn't even know was in place before... before...

“Dammit, Fitz,” she muttered to herself.

She loved him. She loved him so much, but she wasn't sure that meant  _ in love _ with him. The lines between platonic and romantic had always seemed so clear to her with other people, but not with Fitz. The thought of kissing him may have occurred once, possibly twice, but she'd never seriously considered them as a couple. However, she told the truth last night— losing him felt like excising a chunk of herself, like she was walking around with only half a brain, or half a heart. Didn't that make them a couple in their own right?

_ Ugh, I sound like the Tin Man _ , she thought, then laughed softly despite herself, turning on the taps for the bath. Today she would not brave the shower; she would celebrate a successful night's sleep with a shallow bath and not worry about having flashbacks while bathing. As the water ran she put her fingers underneath the tap to check the temperature, letting her mind wander.

It still bothered her that she didn't quite know how she felt about Fitz. Well, she knew, but she didn't know. Relationships were messy and complicated, but this...  _ thing _ with him had always been easy. Their friendship meant more than anything in the world, but if they both wanted it to take a different direction, why not let it? It wasn't even really much of a different direction, just another layer. Another piece of the infinitely incomplete puzzle. Another new adventure. She liked the thought of that, actually. 

As a child, Jemma had always said she didn't want to get married, or date anyone. There was no one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, no one she wanted to grow old with together, but now the thought entered her head that she wouldn't mind growing old with Fitz.

Assuming he got better, of course. He'd already made such a wonderful recovery, and she didn't want to inhibit that in any way. They could be careful about it, maybe. If they took it slowly it could work. All that was assuming he still wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her, that was, and oh,  _ no _ , when had her brain moved down this track?

Well, it could  _ possibly _ be the increased levels of oxytocin from cuddling with Fitz all night, but it could also be a normal emotional revelation. Assuming emotional revelations could be classified as  _ normal _ .

Jemma slowly sank down into the bath, cupping water in her hands and letting it run over her skin as she thought. She might have a serious problem on her hands.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hump day! We are halfway through the week and I hope it's been a good one. Also we're finally getting into the meat of the plot, so hang on tight, and thanks for being the lovely people and readers you are!


	7. In Which FitzSimmons Goes Adventuring

“Jemma? Are you alright in there?”

“Yeah, fine!” 

He felt silly for checking on her, but after her admission of panic attacks he thought he should. Was that odd? Did that cross the line on friendship? Fitz didn't think so, but he knew he'd need to tread awfully carefully after the incident last night. Waking up and seeing her next to him was like something out of a particularly pleasant dream, but not one that he really needed to relive.

_ Friendship _ . That was all. Just because they were patching it up didn't mean they immediately needed to dive into something romantic, especially because he knew that Jemma didn't reciprocate those feelings. It was fine. No worries, just something to work their way around. There were other things to be concerned with at the moment, such as the secret house they were staying in, the mysterious agent somewhere off in the woods, and the fact that he was really quite hungry. 

At least he could do something about the last one.

By the time Jemma came back downstairs, hair wet and a damp towel hanging around her neck, the food was almost ready and the old wooden chess set from one of the desk drawers was set up on the counter between their chairs. Fitz was (unsuccessfully) attempting to play himself— he was positive it could be done, but everything kept ending in a stalemate. Not that playing with Jemma didn't usually end in a stalemate, but it generally took a lot longer to get there.

“Playing chess with the ghost?” Jemma teased.

“Waiting on you. I cooked, if you're hungry.” He gestured towards the leftover half of the food (or maybe slightly less than half, but he was always hungrier than she was). Jemma nodded approvingly.

“I'm impressed. You're learning.” She assembled a sandwich from the bacon, eggs, and toast, then promptly walked over to the chess board.

“Now, I'm a little rusty, but let's give it a go.”

They played three games that quite neatly ended in one stalemate and a victory for each of them before stopping. It was like old times down in the boiler room (minus the shots), or long, snowy nights spent with homework and bottomless cups of tea. Plus, it felt nice to stretch his brain a little. It was understandable that Coulson wanted them to heal, but he'd put them in a place that left them utterly without mental stimulation besides a lot of books and each other. In a way, it was good, because his plan of forcing them to talk had done a wonderful job of fitting them together again. Maybe they didn't fit quite as well this time— maybe the pieces were a little bit cracked, or there were some chips and chinks in the edges that left gaps that weren't there before, but they were together.

What was more painful, though: completely broken or  _ almost _ whole? 

“Fitz? Hello, you there?” He blinked, and suddenly Jemma was waving her hand in front of his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine. I was just wondering if you thought it might be a good idea to try to hike out and find Grizzly. Maybe tomorrow?” She seemed hopeful, even if he didn't understand quite where the idea had come from. However, they were still stuck here. They had still been instructed to contact Grizzly in case of an emergency (albeit indirectly), still didn't actually know how to  _ get _ in contact with him, and they really had nothing better to do. Plus, it would be useful to find out who Grizzly was, if they could trust him, and if he was actually still  _ alive _ .

“I think that's a good idea,” Fitz agreed. “Maybe the next day, though, so we have enough time to get everything ready. Also, I think it's going to rain tomorrow.” Studying clouds wasn't the most interesting thing in the world, but he had to do  _ something _ while they were stuck here. Plus, he'd recently found the hatch for the roof and it was pleasant up there. He walked around the counter to take the binder from its now designated drawer beside the sink, flipping it open to the page with the map.

“Everything we need should probably be in the bunker, or in the main cellar. I still haven't gone down there, but there's a page that says there's survival supplies stockpiled somewhere.” Jemma came to stand next to him, so close that their shoulders brushed. Her touch made him relax a little, almost like conditioning. They'd always been really awful at figuring out were “personal space bubble” boundaries started and ended, so it was only natural that after a while theirs had disappeared when they were together.

“So it's a five or six mile hike through the woods. We cross a stream here—” he pointed to where it was marked on the map, “and we start climbing up a seriously rocky path here. What do we need?” He pulled a pen from the drawer and tapped it on the page, ready to make a list below the map. They'd marked up the manual enough already— a little more wouldn't hurt.

“A compass,” Jemma said firmly.

“A map,” Fitz added.

“A tent, or at least some sleeping bags in case he's gone or missing or  _ Hydra _ and we have to spend the night in the woods.” She had a point, there. They needed to expect and prepare for the worst. Not to mention that five or six miles there meant five or six miles back. The average person could walk two and a half miles in thirty minutes at a fairly normal pace, but this was unknown mountain terrain and they wouldn't be following a path.

“In that case, we should also probably bring food and firearms.”

“ _ Firearms _ ?” Jemma sounded almost shocked.

“ _ Hydra _ !” Fitz cried, waving his arms. “You know, shoot first, ask questions later? Oh wait, but the only people who know about this place other than them would be SHIELD, so now it's down to just shoot.”

“Fair point.”

For a woman who was a literal, actual genius, Jemma could really miss things sometimes. Fitz fought back the ache in his chest at that, trying not to think that in the course of everything she'd completely missed  _ him _ .

 

~xXx~

 

It took them quite a while to gather (read:  _ locate _ ) the rest of the supplies they needed from the bunker. Jemma had finally gone down to the main cellar to find racks full of camping gear, including tents, packs, and sleeping backs. There was also the aforementioned wood stove, sitting gloomily in the corner and looking cranky and disused. That is, if a stove  _ could _ look cranky. It probably hadn't been used for a long while, and might be rightfully cranky...

Jemma simply shook her head and wondered if being shut up in a cabin for a while made everyone start to personify wood stoves.

There was a compass and plenty of camping-safe rations down in the bunker, along with a surprisingly wide selection of firearms and bullets. They went with the most basic pistols they could find, and Jemma insisted on bringing a flare gun. Fitz thought it was ridiculous (“We're in  _ hiding _ , Jemma, as in we _don't_ want to be found in a suspicious secret house connected to a suspicious secret government agency!”), but she insisted (“If we get into big trouble we might just  _ want _ to be found.)

After the bags were packed they went off alone for a few hours, Fitz probably sketching some designs and Jemma off reading and cataloging plants with renewed vigor. She needed something—  _ anything _ — to take her mind off the current problem of her growing emotional complex over Fitz, and some of the specimens here were actually quite fascinating to look at. It made her wish she had a microscope, but it was fine to view them without one for now.

She came back inside when the sun set to find Fitz lying on his back, tossing a chess piece in the air and catching it repeatedly.

“Bored?” she asked, amused. He was startled enough that he missed the chess piece and it hit him in the face when it dropped.

“Ow— yeah, out of my mind, but ouch!” He sat up, rubbing his nose.

“So... are we debating the practicality of using gravitonium in labs and weaponry, or watching a movie?” She flopped onto the sofa beside him, settling easily against his side.

“Um... both?” Fitz asked. Jemma nodded. 

“Both is good.”

Having conversations with Fitz was the only thing keeping her sane at this point. They hadn't even been here two weeks (two days short, by the calendar on the wall), and her brain had started to feel like there were cobwebs everywhere. Was this how Fitz felt when he was in school? Her parents had identified her high intelligence level very early on, but Fitz had nearly flunked out just because he was bored out of his mind. Talking with him was like shaking the dust off, though, in more than one way.

By the time they'd exhausted the topics of gravitonium, Dr. Banner's research on gamma radiation, and how some of Tony Stark's designs could be expanded on and applied to lab technology and not just weapons, the sun had been down for quite a while. Neither of them really remembered about eating, even though Fitz  _ always _ seemed to be hungry, and somehow it ended up with them sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, bickering playfully about the realism of classic James Bond.

“Oh, come on, that would never work!” Jemma cried, frustrated. “Not to mention that having a magnet that powerful on your wrist is just not practical.”

“At least the stunts are good,” Fitz said with a shrug.

“Seriously? You complain about the robots in every science fiction movie we've ever watched, and when we get around to something like this you just  _ go with it _ ?”

“It's James Bond,” he said, as if it was obvious. “You don't knock  _ James Bond _ !”

“Mm.” Jemma was unconvinced. “Can I at least knock the Bond girls? They don't  _ do _ anything. Well, except James Bond.” Fitz laughed loudly.

“Yes, knock the Bond girls all you want!”

“Bond girls...” Jemma muttered distastefully, settling back beside Fitz. “Why would anyone ever want to be a _ Bond girl _ ? I mean, besides getting paid, but in real life. Why on earth would you ever want to go get involved in something like that for a once-off with a secret agent? Do people  _ actually _ think—”

“Ok, first off, that's more of a q— question for a field agent, not me. Second, you couldn't ever be a Bond girl. You're too good for that— you'd catch the crook and turn him in before Bond even  _ got _ to the place—”

“And then I'd drop him off to recover from his injuries in celibacy while I rode off into the sunset to study aliens with you,” Jemma finished, smiling. She almost regretted the last part— _almost_ — but she'd take riding off into the sunset with Fitz any day, even after everything they'd gone through.

“I like the sound of that.” 

She did, too.

 

~xXx~

 

“Good news,” Coulson announced, bustling into the conference room with a large file folder. “Xavier found Stryker. Actually, one of his agents found him. They're up at a remote base somewhere up north.”

“I'm sensing a 'but,'” Bobbi said skeptically, leaning back in her chair.

“But,” the director continued, “they haven't been able to get in and catch him. They're going to need our help for that. According to Wolverine, the last time they tried that in whatever aborted timeline he fixed, it didn't end well.”

“Okay, there are a whole lot of questions I could ask about that sentence,” Skye said, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. They'd been looking all over the place, and she'd at least managed to track the paper trail back to Stryker so they could drag him off to somewhere to be legally detained (especially because Xavier had strong suspicions that Stryker was doing illegal genetic experimentation), but the problem was getting there.

These guys were dangerous. She already knew that from the specs on the base. If their teams worked together it was possible, but nothing was ever guaranteed.

“Let's start with what are we going to do next?” Hunter asked, looking around. “Anyone got any bright ideas?”

“Well, we team up. If we're taking the fight to them we need to actually,  _ physically _ meet up, do some training, find out how we work together.” May finally spoke up, and of course it was the first logical suggestion that anyone had put forth.

“Everyone up for that?”

There was a chorus of “ _ yes _ ” around the room before Coulson nodded and picked up the phone.

“Did you get all that, Professor? Good. Your place or mine?”

 

~xXx~

 

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep...”

“And miles to go before I sleep,” Fitz continued quietly. They stood on the very edge of the woods, backpacks full of supplies and maps in hand. “Ready for this?” 

Jemma looked around thoughtfully before she responded.

“Nope.”

She stepped off through the trees without another word, Fitz following along behind her. Jemma had a compass and the map in hand, and Fitz had a spare in his bag. The walkie-talkies were looped onto their belts, with extra batteries in the pack, and they had a definite plan in case they were separated and unable to contact each other.

The hike wasn't bad most of the way. The woods provided a really pleasant atmosphere, with just enough light creeping through the trees to make it well-lit, but cool. The grass grew tall and wildflowers bloomed in clumps here and there among patches of moss and clover. They were careful to leave as little trace as they could in case anyone happened to come through this area— it was unlikely, but possible (even the Appalachian trail was pretty far off), and they especially didn't want to leave a trace if Grizzly happened to be Hydra.

“What's his name again?” Fitz asked.

“Agent Jack Greenwood.” Jemma said, carefully working her way around a large patch of underbrush. “Fury seemed to be alright with him, judging by that book and the remote location—”

“Because if he was trouble he could easily pick people off before any help could get out here—”

“But they wouldn't station him in a place like this if they thought there was even a chance of that.” Jemma sighed, and he could read her frustration like a book. There were just too many variables in this situation to have any kind of reliable prediction of an outcome, and she refused to guess. Scientists did not guess, they hypothesized based on solid research. Unfortunately, they didn't have much of anything solid to work off, and it was obviously making her twitchy. 

On an impulse, Fitz reached out and grabbed her hand. She tensed for a fraction of a second before twining their fingers together. The easiness of the gesture was comforting, but confusing. It should be more awkward than this, shouldn't it? It should feel different to be around her— it should hurt more than it did.

“Does this mean we're st— starting over?” He asked suddenly. Fitz wasn't quite sure where the question had come from, but it had been on his mind for several days.

“What?” Jemma stopped walking and stared, confused.

“I know we're p— patching things up, and I just wondered... We're different people, you know.” It came out in a slightly more scattered way than he'd intended, but it was ultimately true. Their experiences after the pod had changed them in ways neither was prepared for.

“I don't want to start over,” Jemma said softly, eyes glued to the ground.

“We might need to.” He didn't want to, either, but if they were really going to make this work...

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I don't want to start over, because that means the beginning. That means you hating me and us slowly and painfully becoming friends again. That means we never burned all those dinners or patched up all those scrapes, or cried together or laughed together or  _ anything _ . No FitzSimmons.” 

Fitz hadn't really thought of it that way.

“Why do  _ you _ want to?”

Why? That was a more complicated question than she knew. He'd thought about it in his head over and over, wondered why she left and what on earth could ever make him worse around her. What broke apart relationships like that? It took a while, and it took until he finally realized why he felt more comfortable around Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter than anyone on the old team...

“Because I keep trying to be who I used to be around you, and it's obviously not working.” The words all came out in a rush. All the people he seemed most natural around had never met him before the pod. They all thought he was just like this, but the others knew better... especially Jemma. If something was wrong, she would see it. She knew every tick, every nerve, every part of him inside and out, and no matter how much he wanted to recover and show everyone that he was alright, Jemma would always be able to pick out the little broken pieces. 

It scared him, in a way, so he'd pushed her away for a time. Then, after a while he just wanted his friend back, but it was too late. Coulson was right. They did need to talk, and they did need to be alone, in a place where no one else could reach them or judge them, in order to do it.

“I don't think you are. Not anymore, at least,” she said carefully, stepping a little closer. “I think... I think Coulson was right. I'm still angry with him for dumping us off, not to mention the sedation, but I think he  _ knew _ . You don't look as... twitchy when I'm around.”

“I don't feel as twitchy,” he admitted. Even Fitz could tell that he was stuttering less, too. “I used to get nervous when you just walked in the room, like I was going to do something to give away that it was one of my bad days, or that I wasn't in tip-top condition.”

“I wish you'd told me, Fitz.” Jemma reached out for his hand, giving a gentle squeeze.

“I didn't want to worry you.” He shrugged, but felt a little silly in hindsight. They had both made so many mistakes, but one by one they were correcting them. 

“I don't want to start over,” she said again. “I just... want to keep going in a new way. Change happens.  _ Life _ happens. We deal with it the best we can. One day at a time.” 

She kept holding his hand as they walked through the trees.

There was a time when little things like this gave him hope that she might feel something more, too. He might have seen it as a sign that her affections ran deeper than they did. Fitz liked to think that he'd handled things well so far, but there was only so much he could take before the cracks in his heart caught up to him and couldn't heal. He needed time away from her now that everything was patched over, to let things settle into this new state, but they were stuck together for another month, and that was precious time that he knew he would never have once they returned to SHIELD.

As they walked, Jemma pointed out various species of plants and animals. They even saw a deer running through the trees, along with several rabbits, squirrels, and a bloody  _ infestation _ of chipmunks. The animals seemed rather active for it being so early in the day, but that was probably good, because it meant they felt safe enough to come out. There wasn't any huge unrest in these woods... yet.

At some places the trees were thinner, letting in large patches of sunlight and allowing the grass to grow more fully. The ground was never flat- they were always going up or down, though the sloped varied in length and steepness. Sometimes you could barely tell the mountain was even there, and other time you had to brace a hand against the trees so you didn't lose you footing on the muddy slope.

It took almost two hours of hiking at a steady pace to find the stream. At a glance there didn't seem to be any particularly good place to cross, but they stopped for lunch and plotted out their course. This was much farther through the woods that Fitz had gone exploring— he'd never gone farther than about a mile out from the house, slightly scared that he wouldn't be able to find his way back. This time, though, there was a map, a compass, and Jemma by his side. Everything would be alright as long as they were together... or, at least, he wanted to believe it would.

After a slightly slippery incident crossing the stream, they kept traveling through the mountains until it seemed like they were right on top of where Grizzly's residence should be. The problem? They were also standing in front of a very steep cliff face.

It looked like part of the mountain had just fallen away. Maybe it had been carved out at some point, or maybe not, but the rest of it rose up around them in walls of rock that would be impossible to climb without gear. They'd hit a dead end.

“Well, isn't this lovely...” Jemma muttered, slinging off her backpack and consulting her map. 

“I'm going to go check up the ridge, see if there's anything to— ah— see.” It sounded silly even to him, but Jemma nodded her agreement, still puzzling over the map. He'd just gotten out of her line of sight when he heard the new voice.

“Hail Hydra.”

 


	8. In Which There is Quick Thinking and Less Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh I'm so sorry about posting late! I had a super crazy day yesterday and it totally slipped my mind. Thanks so much for all your support, and sorry again...

A string of curses that would make a sailor blush ran through Jemma's mind as she automatically reached for her pistol, but before she could turn around to face her attacker the barrel of a gun pressed into her back. Her own firearm was pointed straight into the air, unable to help.

Not to mention that she'd accidentally reached for the flare gun.

_ Wait _ . That might actually be useful...

“Don't move, and answer me honestly if you don't want a bullet in your back. Who are you?” A gruff man's voice came from behind, jabbing her a little with the barrel as he spoke.

“My name is Jemma Simmons.”

“Are you Hydra?” 

“Are  _ you _ ?” It was the first thing that came to her mind, but it seemed like a good question. In her panic she'd also given away her real name, and he hadn't had a severe reaction to it. All the Hydra agents should know there was a price (or at least a promotion) on her head, right?

“Don't mess around with me, kid. I don't have time for games.”

_ Ok, Jemma, think fast.  _ Fitz was still out there, and maybe this guy hadn't seen him. If she was very luck and talked very quickly there might be some hope...

“You're not going to shoot me,” she said as confidently as she could.

“Why? If you think you can best me with a flare gun faster than I can pull the trigger, you've got another thing coming.”

“The position of the gun in my back means the bullet will most likely go through my stomach, maybe puncture a lung. I'll be in a lot of pain, but I won't die right away. I'll have plenty of time to pull the flare and alert SHIELD planes to your position. They'll be on you within minutes, and emergency teams may even be able to save my life. Even if they don't, that's alright, though, because they'll all know you're working for Hydra, and your pain will be far worse than mine. Isn't that right,  _ Jack _ ?” It was a guess, a gamble, but hopefully a good one. She took a deep breath and continued talking before he could get in a word. “And, honestly, this whole speech really hasn't done anything at all, except that if I'm very lucky my partner will have snuck up behind you and will be currently pointing his pistol at the back of your head.”

There was a horrible pause.

“It's a damn good thing you babble when you're nervous,” Fitz said from behind. Jemma fought not to slump in relief. “Let her go, or I swear I will shoot you. Want to see who's faster on the trigger? You won't win that game.”

“What's your name, kid?” the man asked, apparently directing his question to Fitz.

“Leo Fitz.”

At that, the man lowered his shotgun, but when Jemma turned around she saw that Fitz hadn't put the pistol down. The man in front of her was quite tall, with a strong build and a scruffy beard. He wore casual clothes and had a backpack on.

“You can relax, Agents. Director Coulson told me you were coming- I just wanted to make sure you were telling the truth.”

“How do we know  _ you _ are?” Fitz asked pointedly.

“Well, for one thing, I didn't shoot her on sight,” he said, gesturing towards Jemma. “Hydra's got a pretty price on your head, Agent Simmons.”

“I'm well aware, thank you.” She couldn't hide the relieved sigh that slipped in.

“I'm Jack Greenwood, codename Grizzly, but you probably knew that, too.” He shook both their hands, and Jemma began to relax. Maybe he really was on their side, especially if he'd been in contact with Coulson. She wanted to trust him, but you couldn't be too careful. “Why don't you come on inside, and we'll catch up.”

He turned around and started walking towards the rocky area. Jemma exchanged glances with Fitz, who seemed to think him trustworthy enough, as he made an “after you” gesture and holstered his gun. It was at that point she realized that she was still gripping the flare gun rather tightly, and she put it away as quickly as possible. After shouldering her pack, Jemma walked side by side with Fitz up towards the sheer rock wall in front of them. She tried her hardest not to focus on the fact that when Fitz was defending her, he hadn't stuttered. Not once. What was different, what was  _ new _ ?

But she already knew that, didn't she?

Jack was waiting at the cliff by a pile of boulders, and gestured for them to be quiet.

“Agent Jack Greenwood of SHIELD,” he said clearly.

“Voice key confirmed: Welcome, Agent Greenwood,” the computer responded. It sounded like the same automated voice from the Bunkhouse.

“Agent Jemma Simmons of SHIELD.” “Agent Leo Fitz of SHIELD.” They accidentally spoke at the same time, then looked down, embarrassed.

“Voice key confirmed: Welcome, Agents FitzSimmons.” Fitz and Jemma stared at each other, shocked that the computer picked up on their voice keys while they were talking over each other, and slightly more shocked that Coulson had the audacity to program them into the computer as FitzSimmons. Jack raised and eyebrow and smirked, but didn't say anything as a concealed doorway slid open.

It worked almost exactly like the hatch in the Bunkhouse kitchen, except this one pushed inwards and slid to the side, leaving a neat, square entrance in its wake. Jack walked inside and motioned for them to follow.

The inside of the cave— because, really, it  _ was _ a cave— was actually rather cozy. The floor was hard concrete, but covered in layers of mismatched rugs. There was a small table, an iron wood stove, and a sink that seemed to be built into the rock itself. On the other side of the room was a sofa and armchair. Four other rooms branched off to the sides from the main area, doors all closed. There were candles and oil lamps burning inside, giving the room a dim but friendly glow.

“They say the Bunkhouse is the most secure place that SHIELD has, but they're wrong. This is the most secure. The only thing electronic is the door and communications, and the door's got a manual safety catch on the inside. The plumbing is off-grid, the door runs on solar, and it blends completely into the mountainside.” Jack sounded almost like a father talking about his child. “Well, alright, they might be equally secure, but this is much better concealed.”

“It's nice,” Fitz mused. He  _ sounded _ legitimately impressed, but sometimes Jemma just wasn't sure.

“Thanks. Let's get down to business, though—” Jack pulled out a chair from under the table and took a seat. “You didn't come here to chit-chat. In fact, Coulson specifically told me he didn't warn you I was up here, so if you found me you must have found Fury's binder in the bunker.” 

“Right,” the scientists said together.

“So why do  _ you _ think you're here?” Jack asked, propping an elbow up on the table. She glanced over at Fitz to find him staring back at her just as nervously, and then they both looked back at Jack.

“I know that look,” he declared. “This story is going to require coffee.”

Jack put a pot of water on the stove while Fitz and Jemma launched into the short version of their story. They described Ward's betrayal (with as few specifics as possible) and how he left them in the pod to die, how Fitz had been in a coma for nine days and how Jemma had gone to infiltrate Hydra. Jemma talked about how they both were suffering from anxiety and panic attacks, and Fitz recounted how Trip's death had been the final straw.

Short version: they were damaged and alone, and Coulson sent them away to do some psychological healing and soul-searching. They left out a few parts, such as their friendship crumbling away and the awkward not-romantic situation they were in, but by the end of the story Jemma was holding Fitz's hand.

“I think we need to place a call.” Jack stood and walked into one of the rooms without another word, motioning for the two to follow him. It seemed to be his bedroom, except Greenwood headed straight for a computer screen in the corner, and was already dialing a number by the time Fitz and Jemma made it over.

“Hobbit House to Playground. Anyone there?”  _ Hobbit House? _

“Agent Greenwood. Is everything ok?” Coulson's voice quite clearly came from the video screen, and as they walked closer it was easy to see his face on the screen.

“I don't know, Director. I've got a couple of visitors who want a word. Why don't you talk with them, and then you tell me if things are ok.” Jack looked back at them and then nodded pointedly towards the screen. Coulson's expression changed drastically when he saw them, switching through shock, worry, anger, and then back to worry again.

“FitzSimmons?!”

 

~xXx~ 

 

“What on earth were you thinking—”

“Why did you send us out—”

“Sending us out here without warning—”

“Without explanation—”

“We've got a nuclear bunker under out feet—”

“Depending on a man who lives in a _hobbit hole_ —”

“No communications—”

“With Edna Mode's security door—”

“No way of knowing if we die out here—”

“As our last hope if something goes wrong—”

“Guys!” Coulson's shout stopped their frantic speeches.

“They always do that?” Jack asked, looking back and forth between the screen and the scientists. All three answered at once.

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much.”

“Always.” 

“What's going on back there, Coulson?” Jemma asked urgently. “If you're sending us to a safe house why not send us to one close by with more surveillance?”

“We just t— thought it was a bit fishy, s'all. Tucking us away in the most secure place SHIELD has.”

“We have our reasons.” Coulson was using his authoritative voice. It was the “Director” voice, the “don't question me” voice, the voice that meant there were secrets and high stakes.

Fitz  _ hated _ that voice.

“Whatever's happening, we can help—” Jemma began, but Coulson cut her off.

“No, you really can't. Not this time. The best thing you can do is to go back to that safe house and focus on taking care of yourselves. We have it covered.”

“With all due respect, I don't think you do,” Fitz said, annoyed. “The least you owe us is  _ honesty _ .” Coulson paused for a moment, gaze flicking back and forth between Jemma and Fitz.

“I could tell you that I don't owe you a thing, but that would be wrong. I owe it to you to keep you alive, and that means you staying put where you're safe and not meddling this time, ok?”

Jemma glanced over at Fitz, and he knew that she had the same idea he did. She raised an eyebrow, and he nodded.  _ Go on, tell him _ .

“We promise not to try to escape and meddle if you tell us what's going on,” she said innocently.

“And, for the record, we  _ do _ have an esc— escape plan.” It was a good thing Fitz was a better liar than she was. They'd talked about potential ways to get away and back to the Playground if they really needed to, but nothing solid had ever come of it. It was more like they had a half-dozen, half- _ baked _ escape plans, which probably amounted to at least  _ one _ full one, right?

It was twisted logic, but Jemma nodded her agreement, so the logic didn't technically matter anymore.

“I wouldn't put it past 'em, Phil. They had a gun to my head and were ready to send up a signal flare in the woods.”

“ _ FitzSimmons _ did that?” he spluttered.

“Thanks for the confidence,” Fitz deadpanned. Coulson seemed to be considering, when suddenly May came on screen. She must have been listening from the sides, but now she was taking over.

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

It turned out that the short version was actually pretty long. She explained in as few sentences as possible the threat on Jemma's life and the reason for moving them to the safe house. Whoever was hunting them could be absolutely anywhere, and the best solution for that was to move them to a location where they wouldn't be found and wouldn't insist on going out into the field to help (which could result in any number of bad situations). They also mentioned that SHIELD was partnering up with some “old friends” to try to catch the person they thought was responsible, but didn't say specifically  _ who _ .

“Question: why send me, too?” Fitz asked once May had stopped talking.

“Besides the fact that you also have valuable intel on the crystals and Skye's mutation?” Coulson sighed deeply. “We honestly thought it would be good for you.”

“We're not blind,” May continued. “We notice when people start chugging coffee just to function on a mediocre level.” Her gaze flicked over to Jemma for the merest second, but Fitz saw it.

“As your Director I am ordering you to stay put, and as your friend I am begging you to listen to me just this once.”

Fitz looked over at her, waiting for that wordless confirmation they'd always had. Coulson looked dead serious, but he usually did when there was something he wanted. He  _ was _ ultimately trustworthy, though. They both turned back to the screen, nodding.

“Good.”

“I'll keep 'em here for tonight and send 'em on their way tomorrow,” Jack said. “Over and out, Director.”

“You know, you don't always have to say that.”

“It's too fun not to.”

The video screen shut off with a click.

 

~xXx~

 

By the time the call finished, the sun was indeed setting, so it was a good thing they'd found Jack. Cave-like though it was, the Hobbit House was much more comfortable than the tent would have been. At least here there was a real bed, even if—

“Sorry there's only one bed. Are you sure you're alright on the couch?” Jack asked. 

“Oh, I'm perfectly fine. Don't worry.” Jemma was curled up under a blanket on the sofa, having “lost” roshambo for the bed. In truth, she'd forfeited because she thought rock walls and closed doors would help muffle the sound if she had any nightmares, plus she felt guilty because it was her idea to come out here in the first place. Fitz always picked scissors— it was easy to rig.

Unfortunately, after Jack closed his bedroom door she noticed that Fitz had left his own door propped open. She didn't know why, because to her knowledge he'd never done that before, and her knowledge was pretty extensive. Either way, her plan was half-ruined, but at least she didn't have to feel guilty about Fitz sleeping on the sofa.

From Jemma's position on the couch, she could hear Fitz's slow, even breathing. It wasn't  _ quite _ a snore, but something almost like it. She could almost imagine they were in their shared room back in the Academy, drifting off to sleep only a few feet away from each other. Not in danger, not in a hole in the side of a mountain... 

Rather than think about it too hard, Jemma started her routine of reciting chemical symbols. It was much more interesting than counting sheep, but just as monotonous. She'd just gotten settled and started to drift off when she heard it.

There was a gasping noise, a hitch in his breathing. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, leaning a little to towards the very near doorway to Fitz's room. His breathing didn't slow, and he started mumbling something. Bundling the blanket around her shoulders like a cloak, Jemma padded into his room to check on him.

“Fitz?” she whispered uselessly, more out of habit than anything. There was no response except for continued mumbling. He was crying in his sleep. Tears trailed down his cheeks in the darkness as he tossed and turned in his sleep. Apparently his nightmares were much quieter than hers. Maybe it was because in hers she always screamed for him to stop, not to hit the switch, just like she had in reality. As she came nearer his mumblings became more distinct.

“Jemma, please...” He sounded so afraid.

“No, no, no— Fitz, wake up!” It was like something snapped inside of her, and she was by his side in a moment, shaking him awake, pressing gentle kisses to his face and neck. His eyes flickered open, but she must have missed it, because suddenly he was sitting upright and his arms were around her. 

And, more importantly, somehow she'd moved to kissing his mouth, and he was kissing her back.

It was probably silly to say that kissing him felt like something had clicked into place, like the planets had aligned or the smoke had cleared, but it did. Kissing Fitz made everything feel simple again, like a circuit had completed in her brain and something said “yes,  _ finally _ , this is what you're supposed to be doing.”

Fitz broke the kiss much too soon for her liking, pulling away with a sleepy little look of confusion on his face.

“Jemma?”

“Hm?”

“Am I still dreaming?”

“Nope.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but Jemma shut him up with another kiss. A feeling of warmth bubbled up in her chest, happiness and sadness at once. Something was ending here and now, but something else beautiful might have a chance to grow out of it.

And, if she didn't know anything else at that point, she knew she loved Leo Fitz.

 


	9. In Which Sci-Fi TV is a Big Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *winces* Please don't come after me in an angry mob because I haven't updated in forever... I mean I probably deserve it, but still. First school kinda got ahead of me because I had 20 semester hours and then I got carpal tunnel, which is massively inconvenient because I'm an instrumentalist. For my career. So. I'm learning how to deal with that.
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy the chapter!

The sound of Jack laughing was the first thing Fitz heard in the morning, instinctively shifting away from the light streaming in the door. He mumbled something that sounded quite a lot like “at least you kept your clothes on” before walking away without shutting the door. A soft groan came from beside him, and Fitz almost jumped... before he realized it was Jemma, and that she wasn't actually  _ beside _ him, more half  _ on top _ of him and snuggling into his side.

They seriously needed to stop doing this.

When had she even come in, anyhow?

He vaguely remembered having a nightmare and Jemma's voice, but after that things went fuzzy. He tried to remember, but it was like he couldn't quite grasp what he was looking for. There was the nightmare, and then Jemma came in, and he remembered asking if he was still dreaming, and...

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

He fought back the urge to giggle like an idiot, pulling Jemma just a little closer to him. Shed kissed him! Actually  _ kissed _ him, and then hadn't left or run away. Now, there was a little confusion as to why she'd kiss him if she didn't at all have affections for him, so the answer was that she  _ did _ ... 

Jemma wouldn't do something like this if she didn't mean it. The question that followed was if this was actually a good idea at all. However, Fitz reasoned that there were times to monstrously overthink things, and times to just follow your intuition, and this was probably the second. If he'd known at the beginning of all this that it would only take three weeks up in the mountains to come so close to patching everything up, he wouldn't have protested at all when Coulson sent them off.

Right at this moment, though, they really did have to get up and get going.

“Jemma, wake up. We've got to get moving.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes slowly sat up, stretching. “Has anyone ever told you that you're a lot like a human heater?”

“Only you, Jem.” The happiness swept through him like a kind of anesthetic for their situation. They still had a few things to talk through, but one day at a time, a little progress at a time, seemed to be working well.

Jack fed them breakfast and sent them on their way. He offered to walk them back himself, but they respectfully declined. They could find their way on their own without issue, and there was no point in Jack making the long walk back by himself. Fitz reached out to hold Jemma's hand as they walked off, and was pleased when she tangled their fingers together with a smile.

“Oh, and I won't tell Coulson about...” Jack said, gesturing vaguely to both of them. “I'll let you handle that.”

“Thanks for everything, Jack,” Jemma called back.

“Good luck!” Jack waved goodbye and walked back inside. 

They walked in silence for a short while after that, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind and the birds flitting between the trees.

“So.” Jemma gave his hand a little squeeze as she spoke.

“So.” A pause.

“This is a very interesting conversation. I only hope we can stand up to it in the future,” she said dryly. Fitz couldn't help but laugh. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” 

“I...” Jemma stopped, thinking. “I don't know where we are in... in  _ this _ . Are we... together now?” She spoke slowly, deliberately, obviously taking care with every word. His heart did a little twist in his chest, forcing his words to sound soft and scared.

“I think I've made my feelings clear on that, if you'd like to be.”

“I would.” She smiled bashfully, and Fitz couldn't help but smile back. He felt happy enough that he could float.

“You know... when I was recovering and you were at Hydra, I hallucinated you.” He said it without thinking, then immediately regretted it. “That was probably a r-- really horrible thing to say just now--”

“It's fine, Fitz.” Jemma said softly, giving his hand a little squeeze. “I'd rather know. I'd  _ always _ rather know, okay?”

“I didn't want you to think I was...” he stopped. There was actually nothing he could say to fill in that blank. “I think you kept me sane, you know?”

“His madness keeps him sane...” Jemma said softly, but she was still smiling. 

“Neil Gaiman wrote that. It's from  _ The Sandman _ .” Fitz couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

“I finally read it while I was at Hydra. I read a lot of his stuff, actually. I can see why he's your favorite.” There was a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, and it took him a moment to understand why.

“I'm never letting you get away again.” And he meant it, too. FitzSimmons would never be split up again if he had anything to say about it.

“Promise?” Jemma teased, but he saw the seriousness behind her eyes.

“Only if you do.”

 

~xXx~

 

“Ok, here's how this is going to work. We've paired you into teams with one SHIELD member and one X-Man-- or woman-- per team. The Professor and I picked the matches based on personality, so hopefully you'll get along,” Coulson said. The members of his SHIELD team sat in front of him along with several volunteers from the X-Men. When word had gotten out about the mission, they'd gained a few extras besides the initial four who knew. Apparently they knew what it was like to have a member of your family on the line. That was how the SHIELD team wound up sitting in a mansion in New York, having a conference with the X-Men.

Skye, for her part, was pretty nervous. Not nervous for hacking the system, because she was almost positive that wouldn't be a problem, but nervous for her team and for FitzSimmons. What if someone got to them first?

“On the inside of the compound are teams one and two-- Team one is May and Psylocke, and team two is Bobbi, Cyclops, and Colossus. You five are going inside to get Stryker. We don't know what's in there, so you'll have to work together and be careful. Psylocke can help anticipate any major problems, and the rest of you are all strong fighters.”

The agents nodded towards their counterparts, quickly moving to stand beside them.

“Teams three and four are outside. You're the second line of defense in case they need emergency backup or if Stryker tries to get away. Team three is Storm, Mack, and Jean. Team four is Hunter and Iceman. Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah. Where am I?” Sky raised her hand, looking around. “Where's my team?”

“You're in the plane, hacking their computers and gleaning all the research you can,” Coulson said. “Your partner is Wolverine.”

“ _ What _ ?!” Both spoke at the same time.

“I don't think that's necessary--”

“You need me inside--”

“Enough!” The Professor said firmly. “Logan, we can't risk having you inside in case of an absolute emergency. Aborted timelines are not something to mess around with.”

“Still need that story...” Skye muttered under her breath.

“And Skye needs a safe place to initiate the hack from. If they figure out she's on that plane, she can't be alone to face multiple guards. Not to mention that we have no clue how her powers are going to act in stressful situations.”

“But I can help--” Skye began.

“No buts!” Coulson pointed at her in an almost fatherly way. “Okay, everybody take a some time to get acquainted with your team. We load in three hours.” Before anyone could move, though, Wolverine spoke up.

“Ah, one more thing. How do we know this isn't Magneto, again?” As if on cue, the door to the conference room opened. 

“Because Magneto is right here, and he doesn't want that information in the wrong hands any more than you do. And trust me, if Stryker wants it badly enough, he'll find a way to get it.” A man with a weird helmet and a woman who was completely blue sauntered in, followed by two people who Skye recognized from their contacts with the Avengers: the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. The man in the helmet smiled wryly. “Also, I called in some help for a family reunion. Hope you don't mind.”

 

~xXx~

 

“So, now that Coulson's told us the real reason for leaving us here, how long do you think it'll be before he picks us up?”

“No idea.” 

Despite their insistence that they could do something to help the others out and more than one attempt to find a way out of their current position and back to the team, Coulson remained firm. He wouldn't let them anywhere near the new SHIELD headquarters.

It had already been almost a week since they came back from their adventure to find Grizzly, and Jemma had to admit, it was a good one. They didn't sleep in separate rooms any longer, which helped to drastically reduce the amount of nightmares both of them had and to dull the sting when they did come. She didn't mind waking up next to him in the mornings, and she definitely didn't mind passing time with lazy kisses before they slept at night.

They were working hard not to push things too quickly, but... they'd known each other for so long. Finally sliding into the romance side of things was like adding another layer on to their relationship, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was just that they'd already done all the really couple-y things for a long time, and they already knew each other so well... Patching up their _friendship_ had been the real issue, and that was something that was getting stronger every day.

In truth, Jemma thought they were both a little scared of what would happen after they went back to SHIELD, and on top of that she was a bit anxious about becoming... physically intimate. It wasn't that she didn't want to (because it wasn't as if Fitz was unattractive, and those  _ hands _ ), but there were quite a few obstacles in the way. And a few non-obstacles as well.

Such as the fact that neither of them had dropped what Skye liked to refer to as “the L bomb.”

It wasn't an obstacle  _ per _ _ say _ , as there were plenty of people that never went that far emotionally but started physical relationships very quickly. That was fine for  _ them _ , and it worked sometimes, but not for her and Fitz. Not when they'd come so far and worked so hard, and it might be selfish but Jemma just needed to hear him  _ say _ it.  _ She _ needed to say it, before it burst out of its own accord and shattered the fragile bubble of piece they'd created here. However, it almost felt like the breaking point (both Skye's “L bomb” and the sex) they might not be able to bounce back from, and they were already standing on shaky ground.

Things were getting better, though.

The more she talked to Fitz, the calmer she felt. They talked through the pod, through their thought process, through everything they'd dreamed and  _ why _ . And some of it hurt, but it was worth it in the end to know. He told her about his recovery in the days after the coma, about meeting Mack and hitting it off, and a little about his hallucinations while she was away. She talked about Hydra and trying to make friends to climb up the ladder, detailing her escape and how terrifying it was when she thought Bobbi was a Hydra agent on her trail. They both touched on the necessity to become better liars, to harden their hearts when they had to and do the job that needed to be done. That was part of being in SHIELD-- you pushed yourself too hard sometimes because you believed in the cause, believed in what could be done with a team, but only if you did your part. In return, the team took care of you when you became too tired or frustrated or lonely. You became a family.

Neither of them mentioned that what they were doing was strictly against protocol. Romantically, that was. Fraternizing with other agents was strictly forbidden in the SHIELD bylaws. SHIELD didn't really _have_ to know, and as small as they were now it probably wouldn't matter, but you could never be too careful.

They had located the three security cameras around the house quite quickly after reading the manual, and were now very careful not to do anything that indicated their newfound romance anywhere within the cameras' ranges. It was difficult, though. They could hold off from kissing, but couldn't deny the fact that they were sleeping in the same room. Covering the cameras would mean they knew someone was watching, so that was out of the question, too. No need to raise suspicion.

Eventually, they just decided that if their team was watching the feed, they could think what they wanted to think. At this point they only had two weeks left, anyways. Probably.

She tried not to think about it and turned back to the television, where Fitz was quite passionately pointing out “problems” with one of the more recent Doctor Who episodes.

“I'm just saying, if you're that far in the future, shouldn't the robots have fixed the glitch by now?” Fitz gestured at the screen, where Amy Pond was dodging robots by moving in and out of some kind of time steam.

“Probably,” Jemma finally conceded with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't let it go until she'd said something along those lines. He didn't do anything more than mutter a bit grumpily for the next few scenes, thankfully.

It was a little cool in the room, but Jemma felt warm sitting close to him. Somewhere during the course of the episode his arm had gone around her shoulders and her hand found its way to rest on his knee. It was so utterly domestic that she wanted to scream and sigh at the same time, but she forced herself not to do either, because that would end the moment for sure. It didn't feel quite like this with anyone else, not this easy or this familiar. Maybe it was because there was no one else quite like Fitz.

“ _ All those boys chasing me, and there was only ever Rory. _ ”

_ What _ . Jemma's mind went blank and her body felt limp, but her eyes snapped to the screen and her brain was on red alert as she watched Amy Pond talk. She'd forgotten about this part.

“ _ You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later they're as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, when you meet them you think, "Not bad. They're okay." And then you get to know them and... and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality's written all over it. And they just turn into something so beautiful. _ ”

_ Oh, no. Please, no, no... _ Jemma felt tears springing to her eyes, flashbacks entering her mind. The day they first met, when they absolutely couldn't stand each other, and then the first time they decided to work together.  _ You know, you're not as prickly as I thought you were _ , she'd said.  _ You're not so bad yourself _ , he'd replied.

“ _Rory's the most beautiful man I've ever met._ ”

She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.  _ No, no, no, not now! Anytime but now! _ She couldn't really help it, though. The tear wasn't followed by any others, but the tightness in her chest didn't leave. It wasn't the same as the tightness before a panic attack, but it was still fear. A different  _ kind _ of fear.

“ _You're asking me to defy destiny, causality, the nexus of time itself, for a boy_.”

_ Yes, yes she is, and yes, you'll do it _ , Jemma thought.  _ Of course you'll do it _ .  _ Always _ .

“ _You're Amy. He's Rory. And oh, yes, I am_.”

“Are you alright?” Fitz asked, interrupting her train of thought. “It's just... you're a bit tense.” He sounded nervous, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He thought this was awkward, that it was wrong. More than likely he thought that she wanted to get away from him, and she couldn't let him think that.

“It's just... Oh, this is going to sound supremely stupid.” she said, burying her face in her hands. “It sounds like us, don't you think? We were together for so long and it's like one day you realize that there's just no one else out there for you, and you don't really act on it and sometimes you don't really even see it till it's too late, and I-- I just... I love you _so_ much and I couldn't ever think of spending my life without y--” she stopped abruptly with a muttered curse. “I said that out loud, didn't I?”

“I don't know. Did you want to?” Fitz looked down at her with an unreadable expression. He was giving her a chance to take it back. _Oh, Fitz. Lovely, perfect,_ absolute _idiot_.

“Yes.” She reached down and took his hand. “Well, no, not just this second, but I'm really awful at finding good times to say things, so why not now?” Fitz smiled his stupid little lopsided smile that made her want to melt, and hugged her close.

“In that case, I love you, too. I love you so, so much.” He paused, looking down and suddenly noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, bollocks, I've made you _cry_ \--”

Jemma shut him up by kissing him. He made a muffled noise of surprise, but returned her kiss just as eagerly.

“You know, for an actual certified genius, you really are an idiot,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you, Leo Fitz. I absolutely love you, and I think I have for a very long time. I just didn't know it till recently.”

“Good. Because I think we've wasted enough time.” He gently cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “And yes, I think that fits us quite well.”

Fitz kissed her again, pulling her closer until she was nearly in his lap. It was slow and lazy, exploring each other's mouths with now practiced ease, but it held the same loving fire as their first clumsy kisses. He let his hands roam across her back as she threaded her fingers through his hair, only breaking apart when they realized they did, indeed, need air.

So much for keeping the it off the security feed.

Then again, it wasn't like they cared at this point. The kiss ran a little out of control a little quickly, with hands everywhere and slight moans she couldn't quite bite back fast enough. Heat pooled low in her stomach, though not quite enough to match the bright joy in her heart.

“Jem, do you think--” he said suddenly, pulling away.

“Yeah. Probably.” Probably a bad idea to keep going, probably should wait things out a bit more. She didn't really _want_ to wait, though. She locked eyes with Fitz, biting her lip, waiting on his reaction.

“Do we actually care?”

“Nope.”

They made their way up the stairs and stumbled into Jemma's room, quickly shutting the doors behind him. The security feed made everything more complicated, like they were sneaking around big brother. That was alright, though, because big brother could now no longer see, hear, or stop them. Her fingers were immediately on the buttons of Fitz's shirt even as he pulled her into another kiss. For something that had taken so long to escalate, they were moving rather quickly into this.

Was it really  _ that _ quickly, though? 

Well, yes, in a way, and in other ways no. That would always been  _ them _ , though-- a mass of contradictions. Strange, broken people who fit together well enough, and with a little time the cracks in between might heal.

Clothing slid to the floor, and Fitz blushed quite adorably when Jemma's shirt came off and he finally got a look at her skin. She just shook her head, smiled, and slipped out of her jeans as well before he could rethink it. His hands left ghost trails of sensation where they met her bare skin, and she explored him just as thoroughly.

At the last possible moment, Fitz paused, his gaze finding hers.

“Are you--”

“'Course I am. I love you.” 

 


End file.
